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THE HEALERS

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MAARTEN MAARTENS

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

NEW YORK

1906

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D. AfPLBTON AND COMPAHT

PublUhti March. 1901

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TO ADA

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THE HEALERS

CHAPTER I

We live, nowadays, bo fast and so flAbbily that eren
many of hia contemporaries have probably forgotten the
famous Leyden Frofeesor Liase. Thirty years ago Thomas
Boiculo, Baron tAese of Bardwyk, waa known to every
charwoman and to evety charwoman's child in the som-
nolent old city — the famous, eccentric old Professor of
Bacteriology, whom everybody laughed at, and whom
everybody respected — ^by hie queer name of " Baron Semi-
colon." That honorary title had been bestowed on him
by the silly worid of Philistines in ignorant recognition
of the wonderful Semicolon Bacillus, the professor's own
especial variety of the comma : the Semicolon Baoillufl,
which, whenever you came near enough, was certain to
leap from his lips — metaphorically.

It ia only natural that his own peculiar poison — ^his
private property, bo to speak, in death — became the cen-
tral interest of Thomas Lisse's life. He slew many hun-
dreds of rabbits in demonstrating how certain his microbe
would be to murder a human being if only it could once
get inside. It never did. For there dwell, it appears, in
the mouth of every living creature that poeseeses one,
myriads of other bacteria which destroy the Semicolon
the moment it comes into contact with the saliva. It
has therefore to be injected direct into the blood of rab-
bits and frogs. During fifty long yearfr— he lived to be

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THE HEALEBS

nearl; ninety — the professor b^:ged, bought, or stole
evei7 more or leea aTRilablo coipee, in tbe eteadil; in-
CTeasing azpeotatiou of finding his microbe somewhere.
He vould shake his bead 'witb a twist that grew pathetic,
as tbe bair turned a silvery white.

" Better luck," he would say, wiping bis dark-staioed
knife, " next time I "

" Oh, Jane," he insisted to his wife, " if only it once
could get past tbe tonsils I "

"I wonder," mused the lady, pressing her haud to her
breast, " would it be wrong to pray that it might ) "

Their only son, Edward, grew up in the persistent, all-
pervading atmosphere of the Semicolon. The three girls
did not, being early sent to boarding-school. Their motiier
was in tbe habit of remarking, very justly, that she could
not educate ordinary girls. "Had my girls," sbe said,
" been out of the common — " 8be knew nothing of what
her girls were, little enough about her son.

But a son, being masculine, is an immense possibility

of achievement, unlike girls. Of herself Jane Borculo

would have said, bad tbe form of expression occurred to

her, " Qive me pantaloons to stand in, and I will stir the

"■ world I "

Meanwhile, she was hut a feeble woman, with a taste
for higher things. A bit of a character in her way, though
perhaps not so much bo ae she looked to herself and her
local surroundings. Of an ancient provincial family,
highborn and High Church, she had been intended, by
circumstance, to behave exactly like ber cousins and her
aunts. Instead of which, she had soon amazed everybody,
as she intended, by tbe heights and depths of ber diver-
gences. A little Greek — the Kew Testament in the orig-
inal ; a little Hebrew — Hosea with a crib. Hosea — because
the text is so corrupt, you know. Tbe intellectual fad of
tbe moment: Were the Hebrews Aryans? Was man once
a monkey? Benan and Strauss, inside out. Plato and

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THE HEALEB8

Spinoza, rather wrong aide up. Yet the wbole of it not
near); bo siU; as it Bonnda thna aummaiil; set down;
really rather reEpeotable compared with the life which is
a giggle between two balls. And an excellent pn^taia*
tion, anyway, for a plain woman, close on thirty, who is
going to send off a sndden letter to that " imasual " bach-
elor, Lisse, the head of a historic house and a scientist
(and as much a mocked member of her own uncongenial
set), to tell him how splendid it is of him to devote his
great intellect to unrewarded woi^ Lisse lauf^ied at the
effusion, but he asked the writer of it to become his wife.

"By Jovel" says the baron's younger brother, the
coloneL "Yes, science, by Jovel The doctois used to
cut up people to see how they were made; but Thomas
cuts 'em up to see how the wornis are made inside 'eml
Yes, by Jove, Baron lisse cuts up pauper corpses to see
if there's worms inside I" On the colonel's repeating
this remark, d^antly and expectantly, the baron mildly
answered the soldier that, indeed, the scientist preferred
to do his cutting after death.

Everyone having prophesied that the two "intellec-
tuals " would early sicken of mutual discomfort, a r^n^et-
ful world had to follow their leisurely and contented prog-
ma to a very distant grave. They lived in placid
contemplation of their work and o£ each other. True,
Jane had once confessed, in the midst of her multifarious
poetry writing, that she had never been able to take an
intelligent interest in signs of punctuation. " They have
always seemed to me," she said, "dead, unvital things."
"The S^nicolon," replied the professor, smiling, "is very
much alive t " And living with the creature daily, in her
rather disordered household (disordered until Elisa en-
tered it and put everything in its place with a bump),
the baroness got to be on speaking terms with even the
Semicolon. She felt she could accustom herself to almost
anything but household duties. She would sit for hours
S

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THE HEALERS

in her huBbond'e study, at lier own bureau, scribbling " Ba<
laam, a Beligioas Epic in Thirteen Cantos " — which she
was incewantly rewritine — ^while he occupied himself with
his invest igations behind her back. Behind her back —
th&t was the chief stipulation of their matrimonial con-
tract. The whole long chamber wu arranged for it.
Near the door, her littered writing table placed croaawaTS,
screened, aat the baronesB; she felt her way to her elbow-
chair with closed eyes. If a danger arose that some pain-
ful sound might penetrate to the lady, the professor cried,
"Mind I" and immediately she covered her ears. With
tme womanly heroism she had decided that ahe did not
object to the smells, she who, as a child at grand-
mamma's, in the "blue" room, had Iain awake crying
because of the. naphthaline.

"Hy dear Thomas, listen to thial"

The professor, suppieasing a movement, not of impa-
tience but of suspense, would pause, a quivering frog in
one hand:

" I am all attention, dear Jane."

For their courtesy to each other was of this old-fash-
ioned kind, a pretty punctiliousness of flourishee and
bows. The lady, her fussy cap thrust awry on her fuzzy
brown ringlets, held up the big sheet over which her hand-
writing sprawled huge:

" I like that I " declared the lady, ber eyee lovingly rest-
ing on the page.

"It is indeed," said the professor, "a beautiful
thought." He musingly repeated the last line. The frog
jerked its wounded leg.

" Well expressed} " persisted the lady, with some appre-

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THE HEALEBS

"Most admirably," assented the professor, "Does that
end your fourth canto, my love I "

"Wo. Why, my dear — ^whyt Do you think the fourth
canto too long} Whyj"

" Oh, only because you rhymed, my dear."

" I often rhyme in the middle."

"And what is to hinder yout" answered the professor
hnmbly. " Hind ! " The baroness closed herself up at
once. From out her deafness and darkness she i^ieatod,
" I often rhyme in the middle," and dropped a blot. She
frequently dropped tdots. Eyen when her shortsi^t^d
eyes were open she did not always peroeive where tbey
feU.

Thus they sat, day by day, in long spells of silent sym-
pathy, with the hush of the quiet back room (the "gar-
den chamber," they call it) around them, and the lilacs
and chestnuts close against the window panes, and a con-
templative cat, in the quiet garden, on the quiet Leyden
canaL The house was very stately and silent. The girls
were haj^y in their foreign " seminary " ; the summer
holidays all spent together at the family seat of Bard-
wyk. The baroness tried vainly to take a proper interest
in the villagers there; the baron succeeded better. Once
he endeavored to inoculate them, in an epidemic, but the
heads of the commune called on him and appealed to his
generosity to desist. They understood him as their feudal
lord, who talked about their crops and rents (quite incor-
rectly), but not as a "perfectet." The property, however,
outside the house and park was small. The professor
and his wife were always glad to get back in the Leyden
study. The children enjoyed Bardwyk, but the company
of their parents bored them, because the concern of
those parents about their likes and dislikes was so mani-
festly conscientious. The baroness would ask after pets
by their wrong names, and what mother could get over
that!"

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THE HEALERS

Edward, the boh, waa not tmliftppy at tke Leyden Gram*
mar School. He was a quiet, healthy boy, unasauming,
fond of books of adventure, of games, and of pets. TTin
great friend was the gardener at Bardwyk, who looked
after such of the dumb creatures &a could not be taken
to Leyden. But certain lopeared rabbits and many fancy
pigeons and a couple of dogs were allowed to live at the
back of the garden in town. The baronees took an irreg-
ular interest in Edward ; ehe did her very best. The pro-
fessor loved him from day to day, in a fatherly manner,
without much contact of any kind. Eliza, the maid,
looked admirably after his clothee; and daring the too
brief summer months he found much companionship in
the gardener.

At meal times Edward come into touch with the Semi-
colon; and his mother would take bim into comeis and
tell him what a wonderful man his father was. Edward
had an immense Teneration for both parents. He loathed
the Semicolon. Once — at last, being fifteen — ^he burst
out at dinner, and, choking, cried that the disgusting
thing had got into his soup I " It's gone down my throat 1 "
cried Edward passionately. For one incredible moment
the professor almost wished it had. However, he said
nothing, but only carefully recoiled the little bottle he
had been holding out for inspection, as he thought, to his
admiring son.

" Oh, Eddy I " exclaimed the baroness, lifting her inky
hands. She thought the ceiling must drop on her poor
professor's grisly head.

" I can't help it," persisted the desperate Edward ; " Pm
sick of the Semicolon I "

" That," replied his father gently, " is precisely what
no one has ever been." He saw no hnmor of any kind in
this simple statement, but fortunately for Edward, Ed-
ward did. He returned to his repast with fresh courage
and tried hard to be polite. In his own room, preparing

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THE HEALERS

hia leeaons for the morrow, all through tiie Spanish War
of Succession he thought r^pretfuUy of his father and
longed to go down to him. As be flung his books to-
gether he hecame aware that his mother was standing
behind him. Her eyee were red, a sight he had never
Been before; for no woman's life can be tearful that be-
lieves in her permanent bore. " I can't help it," said the
led-cheeked Edward, near crying himself. Has any man
of us ever forgotten the first tears in the eyes of a woman
he loves t

" That I shoulii live to hear you apeak rudely of the
bacillasl" said the baroness.

" I wish the beastly thing," retorted her son, " were un-
discovered stilL"

''And yonr father an unknown searcher t Child, never
te^ such a wicked thing to him! "

" Of course not, mother I Besides, where'd be the good!
Qod Himself couldn't undiscover the bacillus."

"Edward, do not be atheistical. If jou do not even
love science, you can have no excuse for profanity!"
Edward gazed apologetically at his mother, the odd little
figure in brown silk and lace cap. His mother gazed at
her finger tips, as she often did, surely witbout observing
them. "My son," said the baroness, in her stateliest
manner, " your father owes to the Semicolon bis position
as the f oremoet Bciraitist of the day I "

"Yes," said Edward humbly. But he added, as if
speaking to himself, " They cut you open, and they look
at the worms inside."

"Tour- uncle 1" screamed the baroness. "Your poor
uncle, the colonel I Your poor dear TJncle Frank I"

"But, mother "

" You quote him 1 " The excited baroness droj^wd her

voice to a whisper and came quite close to Edward.

" Your Uncle Frank is a fool," she said. She walked away

rapidly down Edward's little room, but she soon had to

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THE HEALEKS

stop Rsd turn. " That secret is out, then," she said. " I
had made up my mind never to tell you. But, of courae,
you might have found out some day for yourself. He is
in 'Balaam,' Edward. A fool warrior, all bluster and
babble, that the queen never lieteoB to. Toull find him
there, when you'ne old enough. His name is Imphi-
Boahek."

" When shall I be old enough? " asked Edward adroitly.
But he was immensely proud of, and immensely inquisi-
tive anent, " Balaam." No other boy at the grammar
school had a mother who composed epics, " N'ow, moth-
er, you always say ' next year,' and Vm nearly sixteen. If
I had ' Balaam ' to keep me going I dare say I could bear
the bacillus all right."

"When you give proofs of ripe judgment and discre-
tion," replied the baroness stiffly. But she looked uncom-
fortable, and her manner betok^ied evasion. "It isn't
finished," she added, as a palpable afterthought.

"Kor is the bacillus. Kor ever will be," protested
Edward.

" My son, this is an evening of confessions," replied the
baroness. "I can't let you read 'Balaam' because Fve
put in all our relations." She sat down on Edward's bed
and covered her face with her hands. " You'd find than
there and betray me," she said.

" Won't they find themselves 9 " demanded Edward.

" Nobody ever recognizes his own literary portrait,"
answered the baroness, attll in the same position. " And
they don't see each other as we see them, you know."

"Mother," suggested Edward, not sure whether he
oughtn't to feel a little mean, " if you'll read me ' Ba-
laam ' of Sunday evenings. III do my very beet to get on
with the bacillus."

But the baroness rose from the bed, every inch the
little great lady she could be when she chose. Her son
quailed before her. " Edward," she said, " I have lost a.o

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THE HEALERS

tqiportunity of showing you what a giant your father is.
I taught yon to read from the article on him, written hy
myself in ' Who's Who.' Of the Semicolon, as you will
have noticed, I never spoke. I was withheld by a — can
one say ' an awe ' t The Semicolon is your enonnous
father's enormoos lifework, Edward I H^ and he only,
is fit to discuss it with his son."

As she spake thus magnificently the old clock in the
passage boomed ten long strokes; at the tenth the room
door flung open, and a female figure appeared in the
aperture, a figure such as would have struck terror to the
heart of the boldest mistress on earth. A prim maid-
servant, of the old-fashioned, immaculate type, in stiff
dress and huge cap.

" The prof eesor'a bath t " vociferated this apparition, in
the querulous tone of protest so habitual to the indis-
pensable Abigail.

" Eliza I " exclaimed the baroness, whisking round, her
very attitude apologetic, "his bath — oh, of course — yta,
his bath I Qo, Edward, go, tell him immediately! And
remember the prodigal son ! "

Edward lingered, shamefaced. " I forgot about father's
cold," he said. "Is it better I" — in the boyish, booby
way.

"Were your father an ordinary nun, Edward, a cold
with him would be — a cold. There would be only our-
selves to consider. But now I A sneeze of your father's
may mean an eruption "

" Tea, measles begin that way," said Eliza.

"A volcanic eruption in the whole world of science I"
continued the baroness, raising her voice. " That whole
world is watching him. He is on the eve of his most im-
portant discovery. My responsibility is greater than I
can heart"

" The water'll get cold," said the maid.

"You are right, Eliza. It was Providence sent you

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THE HEALERS
into this famil; twelve rears ago. I neror was a

"No," aaid the maid.

"I am Qot eveii a housekeeper. Tou are our pivot,
Elin. I have taught all my friends to call 70U our
pivot. Tou cannot deny that I properly appreciate yon."

" Humph I " said the maid.

Spake Edward, in the dimneee of his father's doorway:
"Ifother sends me to say your bath ia getting oold,
father, and I oughtn't to have been your son." Xn the
exceaa of his emotion he realifed that the prodigal had
gone dreadfully astray. With a lurch he tried to right
him. "I ain't worthy," he said, "to be your son I"

From the distant halo of shaded lamplight, in the deep
recess of studious silence, the profeeaor lifted a thought-
ful head. " Mind I " he cried. " Oh, is it you, Edward 1 "
He hastily flung a cloth across the heap of fluffineas over
which his tall figure had been bending, and came down
the book-clad study. "What nonsense are you talking,
boyt Why, you've never even asked for more pocket-
money I " His voice altered. " Tou are only young, only
young," he aaid. " A time will come whoi you will share
my strugglee and my triumphs. Strange that you should
have spoken so on this night of all others I It is an
important night for me. But I oannot let your mother's
bath get cold."

"Eliza says — " began Edward, but the professor did
not listen. "Tour mother is the pivot on which this
household turns. It is like her to award that honor to
EliEa. Tour mother is a marvelous voman, child. You
can trust her judgment on all* Otters, excepting myaelf.
And even there her error ia pleasing." The professor,
vrith his hand on Edward's shoulder, gently pushed Iho
boy across the threshtdd. " Hot water applied to the feet
can have no effect on the cheat," he said; " it ia a popular
fallacy, like almost all medical treatment. Strange that
10

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THE HEAJ^ERS

the wife of Professor Lisse ahotild still talk of catch-
ing cold." The domestic tyrant here throat her cap
over the banisters, and the master of the house hastened

Edward had barely thrown off his own upper clothing
when he heard hia father calling him. He found the
illustrious invalid sitting half-buried beneath a hetero-
geneous mountain of many-colored wraps, under which
presumably fumed the hot-water tub. The vast apart-
ment was illumined t^ a solitary candle. Before the
funereal hangings of the pillared bedat«ad steamed the
professor, like a sacrifice in front of some mysterious
aanctuary.

"Uy son," began the professor, somewhat in the tones
of a hierophont, " I would not have the sun go down upon
my wrath. I am speaking figuratively, for I never lost
my temper in my life, and the sun went down before you
said your silly little say. But I mean, before you go to
sleep, child, I vould assure you I am not angry with you
at all. Tour mother fears you would not sleep a wink
unless I told you. Don't agitate yourself, Edward. Tou
are young still, very young. By the time you are a
medical student you will love the Semicolon almost more
than you love me I "

"I am nearly sixteen," said the goaded Edward.

"Exactly. When I vas nearly sixtewi the dream of
my life was to be a cavalry officer. Now, can you im-
agine me a cavalry officer, prancing about like a circus
monkey! Look at me I Can you imagine me a cavalry
officer, prancing about in crimson and gold!"

"No," said Edward. "'

" Nor can I." The professor caught at a falling shawl.
" Thus, in our youth, do we misunderstand our vocations.
We imagine ourselves masters of our fate. So passed
the unconscious Balaam on Ms roadi "

" Way," aaid a voice behind the gr

a u

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THE DEALERS

" Way, When yon are a man, you will thirst to devote
your days and nighte to the Semicolon."

"Never," said Edvard, in sheer eager anxiety not to
mislead his patente. A cry broke from the professor.
For the woman, Eliza, had icaerted a spout under the
pile of shawls end blankets. The nightcapped baroness
ton aside the bed curtains. " All men are butter-fin-
gers!" cried the injured handmaid, " butter-toes I "

" Monster 1" exclaimed her mistress, trembling, "to
scald the prof easor 1 "

"It was Edward scalded me," said the invalid. The
baroneea burst into tears.

" Not that I really mind, Edward," continued the pro-
fessor soothingly, " because some day you will be a greater
scientist than myself."

" Impossible I " sobbed the baroness.

" Impossible ! " echoed Edward.

The maid tncked in the blankets, loyal to all three.

"If I die to-night," cried the professor, "the whole
work of my life is wasted I " He half -rose in his ex-
citement, amid shrill shrieks from the women. Eliza dug
in draperies all about him. "Hy son will complete it,"
said the baron subsiding.

"Tou will li-li-li-live to see Edward a grandfather,"
gasped the baroness.

Her husband shook his shaggy head. " The work of my
life," he said, " tnay be completed to-monow. I can have
no secrets from you, Jane. Please leave off crying. If
the rabbit I have left in my study survives till to-morrow
morning, then Edward may become a cavalry officer when-
ever he likes."

"I don't want to be a cavalry officer," protested Ed-
ward.

"In blue and crimson," continued his father Borrow-
fully, " like your Uncle Francis Lisse."

"Who is a fool I" said the voice from the bed.
12

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THE HEALEES

The ptofeBSor started. "Uy dear, eurely there ivere
truths we had decided to ignore?"

"I told Edward. I told him abont Imphi-Boshek,"
conieeeed the baroness. Her drooped head, in the big
nightcap, hung a picture of guilty regret.

Edward went back to his own room much depressed.
He had no particular desire to prance about with an un-
used sword between his legs; too modest, or perhaps as
yet too young, for parade, and already OTersensitiTe as
regards killing or causing pain. He wanted to do like
his cousins and school comrades, take a d%ree at the
university, go into the civil service, work his way np.

The professor always spoke of Edward as the im-
pecunious heir to a great name. " I am a poor man,"
said the professor. "Hy enormous scientific outlay is
the only luxury I allow myself. Pro bono publico."
Thomas Borculo, thirteenth Baron Lisse of Bardwyk,
drank water (tepid rain water, too, it was in those days),
and smoked half-penny cigars. His clothes looked as if
they had been bestowed on him, after considerable wear
and tear, by the much shorter man they had originally
been made for. It is a palpable calumny, however, that
he once went to a dinner with his coat on inside out.
Smart his outfit was not. Fierce struggles with Eliza
about chemical stains had resulted in a compromise of
cuffless flannel shirts. But his appearance, somehow, was
as dignified as it was shabl? ; it impressed you — the spare
figure, the shaven jaws, the eagle beak-~in apite of your
smiles. And the woman who had once eschanged a few
words with him, if she met him afterwards sailing along
the still Leyden streets, his top-hat tilted backward (such
a hat I) and his gaze fixed on cloudland, was certain,
whatever might be her social position, of refined recogni-
tion and appropriate salute. In bis huge, exceedingly
untidy study nothing looked as if it had ever been any-
where else. As for the dust that accumulated all over it
13

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THE HEALEBS

— for Elica had distinctly stated that she most either
stop outside or come in — ^like many a wise man he
beheld it gladly, not iof its own stupid sake, but for
all it bespoke of dan^r averted, of rexation that mi^t
have been.

The Bcientific baron and his letters-loving spouse en-
joyed uniTerssl esteem in their expansive circle. They
had stooped without losing caste, always a difficult and
an exceedingly popular feat. Nor was the baron a mere
academic dreamer. In those days of incipient sanitation
he had done something as regards filtering the water the
poor people drank. His grateful townspeople elected him
to their queer little council. He r^ularly attended its
meetings from a sense of duty, and, from a sense of dull-
ness, as regularly spoke on subjects with which he was
frequently acquainted.

Edward was proud of his father's pump. He liked
passing it on his way to the grammar school. N'owa-
days its construction is said to meet every requirement
for the propagation of infection, but then that will be
affirmed ten years hence of all our sanitary marvels of
to-day.

"If only the dear old chap wouldn't talk about the
microbes at meals I" reflected Edward as he clambered
into his bed. "There oughtn't to be such creatures at
all, and, if there are, we'd be much happier without know-
ing about themi" On this reflection he fancied he was
going to sail away into oblivion; to his astonishment he
found his brain wide awake, all over commas and dotal
He did not know how, by the sudden utterance of his
thought — ^the pent-up oppression of years — he had lifted,
as it were, the sealed lid off the casket, whence wide fumes
now overspread his future sky. But he did know, or at
least dimly realised, that what he turned away from with
such vehemence was not really the talk about the mi-
crobes, nor even the microbes themselves, but the enor-
14

bv Google

THE HEALEES

moufi mass of Buffering their dlBooreiy repreaented, the
horror ol the experiments newly hegimiing all orer the
world. He had beard something — as little as jMBsible —
of the ceaseless, measureless tortures of the modem lab-
oratory, the " serum " business. The ihing was just atart-
ing in &oae dajs. Edward thought of Ms pets.

One of his rabbits — the brown bunny with the white
star on its forehead — was ill. He felt anxious about it.
He wished Jan could see it, the gardener at Bardwyk.
Babbits were jolly beasts to rub up against your cheek,
feeling warm. How quiet the house was! He lay star-
ing, open eyed.

Suddenly he sat up in bed, listening with bated breath.
He had heard that sound for some time. The house had
not been so quiet as he thought.

There, it came again. Yes, the house must be very
quiet to hear it I Almost inaudible, madly persistent,
from the room underneath, through the boarded ceiling,
faint, irresistibly reiterant, the feeblest of tremors, a soft,
barely possible squeak. He heard it again and again
and again. He hid away under the bedclothes, but it
was worse there, when he couldn't hear it. And now he
stood on the floor in his nightshirt. There it was again.
It was going to stop. He would never get away from it.
The timideet, gently imploring cry I It would go on all
night.

He had never before in his life heard the continuous
expression of conscious pain. It seemed almost incredible
to him that HO weak a note should penetrate so far; he
was unaware that no sound carries like the utterance of
sentient suffering. What the sound meant he, of course,
understood at once. He remembered bis father's farewell
words: "If the rabbit in my study survives till to-mor-
row morning, then Edward may became whatever he
UkesI"

He lay with his head under the bedclothes. He threw

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THE HEALEES

them off again. • The clock outside tolled midnight.
Seven faouia — eight houre — ^more! Escape was impos-
aibl&

He was halfway down the staircase, shrinking, trem-
bling with cold. In the doorway of the big, dark room
he stood still. A dead hush — no, that long, quivering
gasp of pain. He struck a light.

By the window he found it, strapped down in the usual
way upon a board ; a tiny white rabbit, shivering, squeak-
ing, as it drew its painful breath. It lifted its pink eyes
and looked at him, thrilling, throbbing, from head to foot.
Perhaps, if it hadn't looked at himt If it hadn't
squeaked as it looked. He seized up a heavy book and
struck at it, struck again and again, till the head fell
back and the eyes glazed over and the little body sank
motionless, inert. Then he fled upstairs again, back into
bed, and lay listening in the blessed unbroken silence.

As he lay listening, his own thoughts began to speak.
Even while he struck he had felt what he was doing to
hia father, to himself. But now his thoughts talked about
it very plainly. No, of course he wasn't going to blub-
ber. He was only fifteen. He lay awake with those
thoughts till near dawn.

Kest morning the professor strolled in to breakfast
with his usual mild air of preoccupied repose. " No," he
said, as be chipped an egg, " the rabbit was dead."

" Poor little beast," replied the baroness. " O Thomas,
I know it's only right and a fine thing to sacrifice one's
life on the altar of science as you have done I "

" And as Edward will do after me," said the professor.

Edward's eyes were fixed upon his taatelesa bread and
butter. He lifted them. An immense power of subjec-
tivity seemed to come over him from a hitherto unknown
source. " The rabbit didn't sacrifice itself I " he said.

" It had not the intellect," replied the professor, gaiing
earnestly at hia son — " like you and me I "
16

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER n

From that night of hU great indepeudetit utterance aod
his great independent action Edward Lisee became a sep-
arate self. It is easy enough to commit a crime, especially
if -that crime have a resemblance of virtue, but we all
know how difficult it is to get away from the conse-
quences. The boy was far too conscientious not to see
that he bad killed the rabbit because its squeak had corns
in his way. He forgot more and mora that, in striking,
he had abandoned his own chance of freedom; he realized
with increasing acuity the possible damage he had done
to his father^s scientific career. Confess he dared not,
for fear not of anger but of scorn. What would his
mother say, who had endured all these years the vague
horror of vivisection?

"The criminal baby I" the baroness had exclaimed, two
years ago, of a young practitioner who had fatally stopped
an operation. Edward could not have endured that his
mother should think such a thought of Mm.

The professor, having once proclaimed his failure,
henceforth dropped the microbe entirely out of all con-
versation with hia son. What this resolve must have coat
him can hardly be imagined. The subject was tabooed.
iUoments arose when Edward longed to cry out: "Tell
me about your researches I Has everything gone wrong
through my killing of the rabbit!" After the first
months of silence all explanation became impossible.
Once or twice Edward tried to b^pn, but his father
somehow stopped him dead. These years of Edward's
youth, despite the daily round of work and play (both
equally successful), are heavy with remembered misery.
17

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

But peihapB he now remembeTs moTe than be reall; suf-
fered; for all his life long he has had a gift for turning
aharp comeis and going straight ahead. Bo, once his
mind was made up that he couldn't tell, that hia father
didn't want to listen, he did his work &s brightly and
played his game as briskly as any other boy. But he gave
away his rabbits and went in for a pecking raven inatead.

The baron, meanwhile, talked about politics at dinner,
politics at breakfast He became immeraed in politics. At
that time, as erer in Holland, believers and freethinkers
were fighting their pseudo-political religious war; at that
time, aa usual, the freethinkers had the gurgling be-
liersTB by the throat. The baron's mighty intellect un-
bent itself to politics. He spoke in the town council,
and presently at public meetings, on the questions of the
day with all his well-known fluency and grasp of other
subjects than the one on hand.

There is a well-known story in Leyden of a student
who, having to be examined by Lisse in zoology, read up
the elephant only, and when asked. How many legs has
the centipede! how many tusks has the rhinoceros I made
answer. The elephant has four, the elephant has two, and
80 on. Thus, not having missed a single queetion (How
many wings has the dragon fly? The elephant has none),
he is said to have passed with honors. Whether the stoiy
be historical or not it well describes the professor's atti-
tude toward the wide fields of human knowledge. He
ballooned all over them in his bacteriological oar.

So he waa naturally successful in present-day politics,
where profound knowledge of any sutgect is always the
one thing that an electoral audience will not stand. His
own world was certainly surprised to see him rise up a
high-church Tory. There spoke the baronial blood. In
the lecture room the origin of species, the descent of
man, the whole monkey business, if you please; on the
platform the fiiBt chapter of Genesis in the original
IS

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THE HEALERS

I>utch. The crowd cared nothing for the lecture room,
Bs long ae it got the hustings. In Parliament the baton'e
eaei; babblings were not so well received; for he used
to get up in the middle of all the theological squabbles
and talk sanitation, and nobody cared about sanitating
anything in Parliament, or wanted to see it done. Thioe-
qnarteiB of the baron's political activity must be assigned
to the baroness, who stopped " Balaam " to read and ex-
cerpt all sorts of wearisome rc^rts. She had an unhappy
knack, amid her yawnings and poetic musings, of copy-
ing wrong figures and leaving out " nets," but she wrote
on earnestly, her cap more than ever awry, her precious
manufioript locked away in a drawer of the writing table
— and, really, as far as the welfare of the nation is
concerned, what matter the nots and the figures of par-
liamentaiy reports? A completed "Balaam" would have
been a far greater boon.

Edward also became a high-church Tory, prouder than
ever of his father, and eagerly working in his cause.
He even fought a great hulking socialist for saying
openly in the village, at election time, that God was no
respecter of persons. He was most dreadfully distressed
afterwards, when he found the text was in the Bible. The
girls, when they came home for their brief holidays,
were all high-church Tories, too. The whole family
rejoiced in this common bond of interest and ^fmpathy.
At eighteen Edward passed from the grammar school
to the university. His final examination was a great
success. The Latin oration — the highest honor — fell to
his share. On the evening of that auspicious day a big
dinner party, of all the relations, assemUed to make
much of him. Eliza's arrangements were excellent. The
baroness (in a new plum-colored silk, with a crooked
bodice) read a poem; the professor made a speech. He
toasted, in glowing periods, tbe " Spes Patriie," compar-
ing the university to a filter, and tbe rising tide of youth
19

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THE HEALERS

to a drain! When the last guest had wished Edward a
brilliant career in the service of his country, the pro-
fessor called his son into his study and ceremoniously
locked the door.

" Edward," be said, " I am fifty-three, and this moment
is the most important of my life."

Edward, a favorable type of fair-haired, freeh-colored,
young Dutchman, well-groomed and properly clothed,
wished the dear old father wouldn't put things quite so
dramatically. The expression reminded him of that un-
fortunate evening nearly three yeara ago. He looked
down at the neat points of his patent-leather shoes.

"Unless I except that of my birth," said the accurate
professor. His eyes sank to bia shirt front. It was
horribly crumpled, but that he would have considered
the normal condition of shirt fronts.

" And of my death," he added thoughtfully. Edward's
growing discomfort found relief in a (strictly internal)
smile. For either of two incompatible qualities will cany
a poor human soul through life's storms without utter
shipwreck: a sense of the ridiculous or a veneration for
the absurd. Edward possessed the former; the latter
brightened bia mother's path.

"My son," the professor fidgeted his worsted-stock-
inged feet into the brilliant slippers waiting for them, the
baronees's annual birthday gift, woi^ed in stitches alter-
nately too looee or too tight, " I have been pr^aring for
this evening, moie or less, all your life I "

"Preparing beastly microbic preparations," thought
Edward, with a shudder, but be only said, in an interested
voice, " Tes, father."

The professor appeared grateful for this faint encour-
agement. He pulled down his unwonted wristbands and
examined the wine stains upon them. "But especially,"
he continued, " since that evening three years ago — you
remember ! — when my great experiment failed 1 "

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THE HEALEBS

" Tea," said Edward in a low voice. He drew tlie rose-
bud from Ms buttonhole and £ung it in the fire. It was
faded, yet, immediately afterwards, he plucked it off
again, and, while his father was speaking, he walked
across the room and found a vase for it.

" After that erening I devoted myself to politics " —
the professor stood lighting his long Gouda pipe — "at
least in my spare moments. I fear I hare not been able
to take sufficient interest in Tweedledum and Tveedledee.
Their place-hunting is so temporary; my Semicolon is
eternal." The professor gazed thoughtfully into the
glowing bowl of the pipe; then he drew the mouthpiece
slowly from hia lips, and, pointing it at Edward, " As you
didn't want to become a soldier — and I can't say I regret
it, for a soldier's life seems to me either actively nocuous
or positively ioaoe, like a microbe's, doing nothing or
doing harm — ^you must try and be a statesman, Edward I "

Edward's heart gave a leap. " Tis a poor career," said
the professor.

There he stood, the dear old untidy father, the man
with the crusading blood in him, that bad gained a name
for himself throughout Europe in the fight with deadlier
than any pagan foes.

"It's no use putting the flower into that vase; I've
had carbolic in it. There are two requirements only;
they are n^ative: no conscience, no nerves. PhyBioIog-
ically the two are probably one. I fear you have more
than the average of both." The professor settled down
again to his chair, hia pipe, his slippers, hia solemn ga^*
into the flame. "You don't care for history}" he asked
suddenly.

" N-not much."

"I cannot blame you. The study of history is little
more than the gradual unraveling of lies about crimes.
There is nothing certain but science, my boy; all the
mistakes must be ours."

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THE HEALEBS

"I admire science," replied Edward beautifall;. He
stood opposite his father, awkwardly holding his rose.

" And the science which alleviates suffering is the one
above all others," continued the professor, not heeding
this last remark. " Social science I Pooh 1 A conflict of
intereetel In the laboiatorjr there is peace."

"Peace— oh, father I"

The professor fixed his keen gaze on his distressful
young son and heir. " Say it all I " he prompted.

" I was thinking of the howls of the victims."

" Ah ! I am punished for having married a poetess.
You mustn't mind victims in politics, Eddie. Your path
lies over them." The professor's gaze returned te the
fire. "That point being quite settled, my future prime
minister," he said, " ve now come to number two. When
my experiment failed, child, I never r^>eated it. You
will wonder why? It was decisive. And, beeidee, I was
uncomfortable about it — afraid. There was something
strange about that rabbit's death."

"I killed it I" cried Edward. "Oh, I'm so glad I've
told you I "

The professor drew forth two slow puffs of his pipe.
" You! " he said. " I concluded as much when I saw the
creature's battered head. So I saw yon would never do
for the laboratory."

" I couldn't stand its cries," pleaded Edward.

" Quite BO. That is why I entered Parliament."

Edward fell back for one long moment; then he flung
himself forward and caught his father's hand In both
his own.

" There 1 there 1 " said the professor, very red about the
nose. "It wasn't really so much of a nuisance. The
spread of the microbe of folly in a crowd is ever in-
teresting, but it's terribly monotonous. My Semicolon
shows variations."

" Toa did it to help me on," said Edward.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

" And to study the thing, and to find out all about it.
There's nothing left for you, but that or the army, when
you're Baron Lisee. For we all must do Bomething,
Edward."

"Don't, father."

"But before you turn your back on all my old plans
for you, Edward, I've one condition — in fact it is a sine
qua non. It's an enormous one; I don't deny that. Ib
the door locked! Very well. I said this was the moat
important evening of my life. Tou have noticed my
little cough?"

Edward nodded.

" I tell your mother it is a bad habit. But my eminent
colleague Longman calls it by another name." The pro-
fessor, very agitated, drew a small box from hla pocket.
"Sit down, Edward; swallow one of theee. I couldn't
have lived without them. I suppose you never thought
. of nte as ' nervous ' 1 Sons don't. Jenkins's ' pilla.' The
Paris man's. A quack's." The professor sighed heavily.
" Yes, a quack's. Every doctor prescribes his own medi-
cines and swallows a quack's I" He extracted a pill.
"Thank Heaven," he added devoutly, "no deaths lie at
my door but those of dumb beasts I "

Edward had dieposed, not too willingly, of his rather
dingy pill.

" Please tell me, father " — he steadied his voice — " what
Professor Longman says about your cough t"

"He says — ^now, Edward, you mustn't mind too much;
theee are simple phjrsiological events of frequent occur-
rence — ^he aaya that he doesn't think I can live six
months I "

" Father I " The agony in the cry painfully rewarded
Baron Lisse for many a weary hour of the Babble-shop.

"Now, take another pill, Edward, and -mind, your
mother mustn't know. Vfhj, I haven't even told Eliza.
You must look after your sisters. Itll be all right.

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THE HEALEES

There'll be money enoui^h- I had to tell you this
brusquely to-night, Edward, because — why, hlees me, don't
look like that I All men die. I don't think I looked
like that when my father died. True, I was forty-five.
But, Edward, you must be a man to-night and help
mel " The professor had risen and placed both his hands
on his son's shoulders. " When that experiment failed —
Well, I won't allude to it again, but I've always made
up my mind to use my own body when the time came. It
has come; I've got Longman's verdict here in writing,"
be tapped his breast pocket. "I went end got it this
morning; I can't do anything without your help, Edward.
It's worth while." These last words be added, as if
speaking to himself. " Ob, more than worth while I "

The long room with its somber bookshelvee, its many
arcana of inveetigation and of torture, seemed listening
for more. Edward's troubled eyes were fixed on his
mother's writing table. The professor, having got over
the wont, proceeded briskly. " I shall lie down on that
sofa. I shall inject the antidote. Then you will admin-
ister the chloroform. Ten minutes later you must inject
the virus. Now, you see why it was absolutely neoessary
for me to tell you everything. Then you must leave me
and go to bed. I shall wake up to-morrow morning. I
am sure of it."

"None the worse?" cried Edward. His father hesi-
tated one moment, and in that moment Edward said,
« No."

" Hush, silly boy. We must hurry, or your mother will
be sending Eliza. This experiment, Edward, crowna my
life. There isn't much ]tdt td it, anyway. If I survive,
just time eaoagk to publish my discovery. If I die, I
deserve no better, for the muddle-headed old fool I must
fcave been."

"If— if— " sobbed Edward.

The professor lifted his mighty head; the gray hairs
24

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THE HEALERS

spread around it like a halo. " To-night," he cried, " we
touch the greatest discorei? in medicine that the world
hae ever seen. If I do not achieve it to-night, some one
else will to-morrow; it is in the air. Soon all disease
will be prevented bj inoculation — the homeopathy of the
microbe I I have worked for this discovery all m; life
long; it skaU be mine I "

"Father!"

" This one thing, at least, you can do for me, to — to
undo all the barm that you have done."

Edward cowered in hia comer. "But, father, if you
were to —

" Die I You would bury me next Saturday instead of
next spring ! "

"Kill yourself," whispered Edward.

"I should no more have killed myself," explained the
professor calmly, "than you would when you risk your
life over a hurdle or in a boat. Be reasonable, Edward.
The risk is infinitesimal; the probable gain to the world
untold." As he spoke, he had already taken off his coat
and busied himself with his simple preparations. He
turned to where hie eon was sitting, dumbly watching.
" Edward, I don't like mentioning these things," he said,
" but surely there are considerations a Baron Lisae may
value more highly than six months of a waning life."
Then be lay down and inserted the needle into his skinny
arm, and showed Edward how to work the chloroform.
" Tell your mother I shall be busy here all night. Good-
by till to-morrow morning. I am sorry I bad to fluster
you like this, child. It couldn't be helped. Serum S.,
mind, the little bottle to the left. Qood night, Edward.
yfoA hard and die easy." His eyes closed.

Edward stood with the little bottle in his hand, the
little bottle to the left. Serum S. He lifted his ^es
to the clock. Two minutes gone already. " Father! "
No reply.

......Xooglf

THE HEALERS

Somebody was knocking at tlie door. He started,
nearly dropping the precious bottle, and vent to see.
Eliza stood in the paaaage. " Time to put out the gas,"
she said, rude and loud, " unleee the professor intends to
stay messing here all night I "

" He does," replied Edward. " I shall go upstaiis in ten
minutes."

The maid peered through the chink. " After the din-
ner party I " she protested. " It's very bad for him. Tou
should look to your cough, professor ! " she called into the
silent room.

Edward closed the door on her; his finger clung round
the bottle in hia hand. He lifted his eyes again to the
clock, Teijr slowly. How long was it since he had last
ventured to look in that direction? The ten minutes
were over. The minute hand was hurrying round the dial.
It no longer mattered how it ran.

His father would awaken now for certain. That was
Edward's only prominent idea. The experiment must
take some other shape. His father wonld awaken I

Up till this evening Edward had never bestowed a
seriona thought upon death; and now suddenly it stood
plain, in the middle of hia heart, beaide hia father. He
waited, watching the unconscious figure, the useless bottle
in his hand. Then he went and put it back in its place
and sat down by the wreck of the fire.

He cowered there, a hopeless huddle, asking himself
wearily, again and again, had he acted wrong, or right t
And at last, from sheer emotion and exhaustion, he sank
into uneasy sleep.

When he awoke the room was gray and bitterly cold.
The dull morning had come, and the first thing his eyes
beheld was the professor, hanging, slightly lifted up,
agaiuBt the aide of the sofa, hia face ashen, his look
dazed.

" Edward I " gasped the professor.

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THE HEALERS

"Yes, father!"

Tlie professor uttered Buch a cr^ as Edward, in all his
later intercourse with men distraught, has nerer heard
again. " It has succeeded 1 " screamed the professor.
" I'm dead sick, but that's onl; the chloroform. It has
succeeded. Oh, my God I " He la; muttering : " The
thing's certain. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant de-
part in peace. Thy aalvation : yes, if a Thy salTation for
a suffering humanity."

Edward had risen, trembling from head to foot.
" Father, I didn't do it I " he gasped in the twilight. " I
couldn't. Oh, I couldn't kill you, father I "

The professor lay quite still. " father, speak to

"Yes, Edward. Go away now, child. Go to bed. Go
sleep," came in feeblest accents from the sofa. " Go,
child I Ton meant well, boy. I undeistand, child. Go I "

" Father, surely in some other manner "

" No, one does not do this sort of thing twice. As for
me, / could not, now the antitoun has got into my blood.
Never mind, child. Let me sleep. I am dead tired and
aick. Send me Eliza, if she is already up. Go, child I "

" Father 1" Edward £ung himself down by the sofa.
"/ will carry on your work, whatever happens! I will
devote my life to it, father, Qod helping me! O father,
I vrill!"

"Yea, child, yes," murmured the professor. "We can
talk about it to-morrow. Kow send me Eliza, child."

Edward went out. On the stairs he met his mother
coming down. The baroness, as we know, was not the
sort of woman to be much troubled by disorder in her
home circle, and besides, she had long been accustomed
to her husband's irregular night work. But at sight of
Edward, in creased dress clothes and manifest distress, sbs
exclaimed alond.

"Hy father was busy. I stayed to help him."
8 27

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THE HEALERS

" Quite right 1 " said the baroness ; " once in a way.
ISow go and lie down. Yes, yes, you must help your
father."

" We had a long talk about my future. I am to study
medicine," continued Edward, burning hb shipa.

" Of course," said the baroness placidly. " I have never
doubted that."

She brought her boy a cup of tea as soon as Eliza had
found leisure to make it — for the baroness could not make
tea. On the tray lay a tall pile of papers, which the
lady, having established herself by the bedside, solemnly
removed to her lap.

" Too remember my promise 1 " she cried triumphantly.
"Edward, you are ripe I Drink your tea, while I read
you ' Balaam ' I "

With much rustling of pages, coughing, and a height-
ened color, she began.

" Sing, Muse, the Seer, the Angel, and the Abb I "

She looked over the pages at him. " Now, how do you
like that I"

He was so weary, the room went round with him.
" Very much," he said.

" When I wrote that opening line, Edward, you were a
curly darling of five. Tour father was working at hia
wonderful discoveries behind my back. And it struck me
the four nouns were an excellent description of our
family ; the Abb being your poor Uncle Francis, who, for
instance, has always said you'd never do for a scientist I "

" You forget my sisters," said Edward, trying to steady
his brain.

" Oh, well — yesl " replied their mother, aud returned to
her reading.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER m

In this manner did Edward become a medical atudrait at
Leyden University.

" We are puppetB," remarked the professor, and he re-
signed his seat in Parliament.

" Bnt Proyidence," objected the baroness, " pulls our
strings."

" Undoubtedly," assented her hosband, " Hind I " It is
not proven that he ever deliberately employed this closure
to arrest theological discossion. He had felt no com-
punction aboDt accepting Edward's aacrifice; on the con-
trary, he deemed the boy very lucky to have seen his
mistake in time. "A unique opportunity!" he said, "to
become my successor I Edward very nearly missed it I "
For preliminary studies in botany and chemistry Edward
showed plenty of aptitude. He had always liked Sowers,
and messing about with electrical machines and eacperi-
ments.

"He is not at all my ides of a jurist," said the pro-
feeaor.

"Nor mine of a poet," declared the baroness with a
aigh.

Presently Thomasine, the eldest daughter, came home
from her finishing school at Geneva, presumably " fin-
ished," and that was a great satisfaction to Edward, who
had always considered her his — rather faraway — '' chum."

The wickedeet action of the baroness's half century of
existence had been the bestowal of so absurd on appella-
tion on her second child. Her son she had been com-
pelled to call ofter his grandfather. " I shall never have
another boy ] " had been her cry, amid abundance of tears.

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THE HEALERS

Did ProTidence resent this querulous prophecj ) Had she
been granted a Bucceesion of male children she would
probably have called one of them Balaam, for some par-
ents will shrink from no cruelty in matters of this kind.
The professor concentrated all Mb attention on nourish-
ment and vaccination, the cow and the calf.

Out of oppression of the sweet, however, cometh forth
sweetness. We know that the name of a rose — and noth-
ing on earth is so habitually misnomered — does not injure
its fragrance; moreover, it gains by being crushed. From
earliest infancy Thomaaine Lisse bore the weight of her
mother's fond freak. She got to accept perpetual teasing
as if she rather liked it. At Bchool she early became a
bit of a mother to her younger sisters. On her return
from Geneva she settled into a vacant comer as her
brother's special counselor and friend.

He stood in need of such a confederate. At home he
was as much alone ae ever; at collie his studies natu'
rally threw him among rather a rough lot of class fellows,
away from his own set of friends, whom he only met at
their play. To the professor, naturally, such a blending
of two social milieux had ever seemed a thing of beauty.
" A name," he would exclaim, " as great in science as if
it belonged to a cowherd I As noble as if it were borne
by a fool I " Needless to say, the professor was well and
busy. After six months he again consulted the eminent
Longman, who said he could hardly live a year.

Before that year was out, Pasteur gave his great dis-
covery to the world. When the professor read of it, in
the common little provincial paper, he turned whiter than
the sheet in his hand, but he instantly forgave his son.
He waited for a moment, with hia back to the desk at
which the baroness sat scribbling; then, sure of his voice,
he turned in his chair and made a clean breast of the
whole business to hia wife. " So Edward has saved his
father's life I " said the baroness, weeping. Her tears fell

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THE HEALERS

in Bteins on the wet page of " Balaam," but there need
be no rewritiiig of the untidy manuscript on that account.

" I should hare Burvived ! " cried the profeeaor, and
Etruck the newspaper. " This diBCOTerj* of Pasteur's
proves I could not but Burrive ! I knew it," he added.

"Edward did not," replied the baroness, "bo he saved
his father's life."

"Ab a woman's, jronr roasoning ib correct, m; dear,"
said the professor, and he went and kiased her forehead,
" but it wouldn't do for me and Pasteur." He corrected
himself, with an odd little bow in the direction of the
newspaper. " For Pasteur and me," he said. " Ah, Jane,
Jane, the whole world may thank God for Pasteur I "

The baronees dropped her penholder; it rolled in a
long blue smear down her soiled mauve skirt. She cried
out:

"Am I to understand, professor, that this man, Pasteur,
has run away with your discovery t "

" TSo, you are not," replied the baron, quite shortly, for

" Then who, pray, is going to be thanked for it — ^you,
or he? "

" He," said the baron, looking splendid.

The lady's lips twitched. With a big wi^neb, however,
she controlled her feelings, and the words that slowly fell
from her, like drops of vitriol, also belied in nothing the
dignified little Baronees Jane. " I might as well let Elisa
publish 'Balaam,'" she said. But the next moment a
contented smile stole over her clever conntenance. " I
knew I could trust our scm to behave just right," she said;
" he haa saved his father's life."

" Exactly," said the baron, resigned.

" And — '' continued the lady. She rose. She flourished

her pen. "O ThomasI I see my opportunity! Oh,

what an opportunity! I am in m; eleventh canto, but

thia" — she flung down the open sheet — ^"must wait I I

^olizccby-GoOgle

THE HEALERB

Bhall write a drama of wHch 70a will be the center, yon,
1117 husband, m; hero I Tour great self-Burrender, Ed-
ward's sublime dilemma I What a theme I " She sat down
again. "Meanwhile Thomasine can copy out the ten
completed cantos. Not a letter that she makes is like
anything I waB taught in my youth, but people now-
adays seem to read them all the more readily on that
account."

" Poor Thomasine ! " aaid the professor reflectirely.
But at this the baroness not unnaturally bridled. " Surely
copying poetry is as good an occupation for any young
girl," she protested, " as examining the human body under
the skin 1 Faugh 1 "

" It's the more interesting side," said the professor.

"A woman has no bosinesa with it," replied the
baroness indsively. For it wae a sore point with her
that Thomasine hod plunged into Edward's anatomical
studies of mornings, on condition that he should acccoa-
pany her to dances of nights. This close collaboration
could not but render the baroness jealons, as she sat at
her writing table with her back to her husband's beasts.

But you don't get to the beaats in the first year of your
medical studiee. There dawned a day, however, a dark,
winter day, on which Edward burst into his sister's little
boudoir, his face all broken up in blotches, white and red.
He tramped about the narrow floor; then he went and
stood by the window, gazing into the cloudy sky. To
whom should he go but to Thomasine! His father never
allnded to his studies, from some curious idea that
Edward's scientific personality most develop independ-
ently, not as a reflection of paternal eminence.

"We had our first vivisection this morning," said
Edward, his back to his sister. " You can't imagine what
it's like till you've seen it done."

She was silent.

" Do you know, I liked the work well enough I Father's
32

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

right: 'tia the finest vocation on earth; I was quite happy
in it. Of course I knew this most come, bnt I thought
it can't be much crueller than shooting or angling, and
I go in for those as much as ever I can. What hypo-
crites we are. Tommy 1 "

Still she was silent, with the silence that ia sympathy

" But, oh, this bit's too awful I " he baret out. " At the
laboratory — only think I — th^ keep a whole herd of small
dogs on purpose for us to break theii bonee and set them,
over and over again. Yon should see the poor wretches
driveu in, wheedling ami whining, and tiying to lick the
white-aproned people's hands. They know well enough
what's going to happen. And then, to hear them howling
afterwards I " He pieesed his chedcs against the chilly
window pane. "I can hear them howling nowl"

Still Thomasine did not reply. Bbe was one of those
few women whose silence, when a man's fresh sorrow
comes to him, seems bnt its congenial accompaniment,
as a hedgerow, unseen but felt, that we reach in a gale
of wind. She sat there, motionless, in the quiet little
blue-and-white chamber, with the many little bits of
herself all around her — the books and the ferns, and the
luminous cross overhead. And before the soothing still-
ness had grown oppressive she got up and came behind
her brother and stood there, with the winter sadness
against her sunshiny girl face and the glow of her golden
hair. " I will do your frogs for you," she said.

" Nonsense," he answered, and put his arm around her
with a brotherly hug. " You'll make a man of me yet,"
he added, laughing.

She kissed him indignantly. " You're a man, every inch
of you," she protested, " or yon wouldn't have done it at
alL" She did not say what " it " was, but everyone knew
in that household, excepting the baroness, blissfully un-
conscious, to Edward's supreme satisfaction, of her chit-

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THE HEALERS

dien's mental strugKles. Tbe barouees, in fact, was pre-
vented hj her own cast of mind from realizing the
ezietcnce of any great " mentality " in a young man, even
her own son, who brought back silver prize cups from
rowing matches and athletic eporte. It required all her
husband's powers of persuasion to make her remember
that Edward had left the grammar school as "PrimuB"
of his class. "The boy does Ms best," she said, after
various readings of " Balaam," " but I cannot think he
poBseaaee 'intellectuality.' Not like you, Thomas. He
lacks fine feeling. But he is a dear boy. Some of us
must have muscles, and some of us must have brains."
Her mind was at rest about Edward.

The profeesor's soul, however, would occasionally jigger
and wriggle like any small beast at the farther end of
his own dissecting pins. For the baron would awake in it
and point out to the scientist that Pasteur's discovery
had left no task for Edward to complete. The scientist
would reply to the baron, that other wide fields of bac-
teriology await«d the coming explorer. The professor
never doubted for a moment that Edward was a genius,
nor could he see the use of being a genius unices you de-
voted your gifts to bacteriology. Besides, Edward never
complained, and that proved Mm to be altogether happy,
for if anything annoyed him he told you so; witnees his
frank outburst at the mature age of fifteen. And how can
any human being, possessed of brains, feel otherwise than
jubilant, once he had escaped from ancestral inanity and
was sailing away over new seas of philosophic research t
The professor wished he had had such a father as himself;
his life would have been very much easier. The thought
is not an uncommon one.

But the pioblem of Edward's future development was
unexpectedly solved by the arrival of Laura. She was
introduced by TTncle Erancis, in a manner distinctly his

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THE HEALERS

On B snow; winter evening, an eveniog of dirt and
dnllness, TTncle FranciB drove up in a fly to the dark old
bouse on die dark canal. He walked straight into the
sitting room, unannounced, and Eliza, as fihe bIowI; closed
the door behind him, shouted through the aperture : " The
colonel I You know hie way I "

The baron's younger brother was a bachelor, a brave
soldier who had volunteered for India, a brusque-man'
nered man of the world. He had a bachelor'a selfishness
and a soldier's generosity; had you written to beg for a
charity, he would perhaps not have troubled to answer
you, but he would certainly have bidden his orderly send
you a F.0.0. He had an idea that he could manage most
things better than the people who looked after them, and,
especially, he read out of his daily paper the daily re-
newed conviction that bis dearly loved country was has-
tening to the dogs. For his wise brother he possessed a
boundless admiration, as you and I, from our under-
standable earth, appreciate the unnecessary stars. He
could not but regret that such an intellect should be
wasted on " worms." What satisfaction be had at first
derived from the baron's excursion into Parliament had
been much dulled by the discovery that his brother's
speeches, as read in the papers, were so manifestly in-
ferior to the orations he, the colonel, concocted every
morning while shaving. "Sanitation, by Jove I While
this country is cascading to the dogs I " " The men who
made this country great, sir," says the colonel, slapping
his red-and-blne breast, "drained their — cupsl They
crossed the ocean in tubs that were — faugh I and they
brought back all the perfumes of the Indies I " His
sister-in-law Colonel Lisse did not properly appreciate;
her poetry he condemned unread. The word lie used was
"silly."

" All well! " He planted himself on the hearth rug and

looked round. Yes, all were in health, even the professor,

bv Google

THE HEALERS

vhom his eminent collea^e had recently asauied that
the hole in hiB only lemaining lung had, unconscionably,
healed. When the profeesor'B dead body was opened,
thirty yean later, the miBeing lung was found to have
apparently K^own.

" Qirls well, too I " asked the colonel.

The beroneas appeared to be aware that the two dear
girls at boarding school wanted for nothing.

" Girls should be educated at home I " said the coloneL
He buttoned his long frock coat, like a glove. His un-
tidy brother, limp in an easy chair, gased at him with
kindlieet interest. The baroness became engrossed in her
knitting.

" And exceptions prove the rule," added the colonel, as
Thomasine rose up before him. "No tea, thanks I"
Twenty years ago, at the christening, to which he had
been bidden as a godfather, instead of the historic name
be had expected, this ridiculous appdlation, carefully kept
secret, had struck the infuriated uncle, and knocked him
over like a bomb. He never called hia niece by her name.
On the mug which he sent her he left the shield intended
for initials a blank.

" Tea," said the colonel, " destroys the brain."

" I take six cups a day," remarked the professor.

"Yours can stand the strain," replied the colonel.
His cropped hair stood up, white, over his clean, red-
brick face, the too-black mustaches flourished fiercely
across his cheeks. "Dear me," he said, "I believe I am
becoming a poet in my old age, Jane, like youl "

The baronees only coughed. To herself she said,
" Imphi-Boshek," and found the usual compensation in
the secret thought.

" Home influence for girls," persisted the colonel. " I
was reading in the Hague Courant this morning "

" Bo you Btill read the Hague Courant," said the pro-
fessor, with a touch of irritation in his voice.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

" Hy dear Thomas, 70U needn't talk politics to me. I
simply look at the papers to see how things aie getting
wrong."

"On!" The professor lifted his hand maliciooEl; to

" Wrong I " shouted the colonel. " And no politics,
Thomas, are required for thatl Koreorer, as for my
political principles, you all know them — the three Fs I "
The colonel looked round defiantly. " The three Fs," he
repeated. "Prince I Parson I Police. Palace, Pulpit, and
Prison I The three pillars of the State, Thomas. The
three F's. Tou remember my old comrade Baleynef "

"We remember about him," replied the baroness, look-
ing in all sorts of places for her ball of wool.

" He is dead," said the colonel solemnly.

"What did he die oft" replied the baroness, while
searching. She invariably propounded that question, like
so many people, who seem to put it in a sort of Bub-
emotion, leat they also should die of a particular some-
thing some day.

" Of fever. At Palembang. He has left an only
daughter, aged nineteen."

" Poor thing I " exclaimed Thomasitte.

"Wliere is shet" asked the baroness perfunctorily,
pleased to have recovered her wool.

" In a cab at the door," said the colonel.

" At this door ! " demanded the professor.

Thomasine had sprung from her chair. The baroness
gave sudi a jump that the ball ran away on to the floor.

The colonel stood immovable, with his eyes on his
watch. "I couldn't do it in less," he said; "I had to
explain about home influence."

" Fiddlesticks I What has home influence — " b^an the
baroness.

"I want you to take her in for a short time, Jane,"

explained the colonel; all the "martiality" — the ezpres-

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEES

sioQ is Edward's— seemed to hare gone out oi him. " He
has sent ber to me, you see. She arrived at my quartere
last night."

"Sent her to ;oiiI Arrived at your quarters 1 Out-
raseousl " The baroness half -rose, dropping all her odda
and ends to right and left. " E<^ her! " The baroness
sat down upon her knitting needles.

" I can only do that in one possible way I " replied the
colonel, inspecting the chandelier.

" What way, pray ! "

" Marry her," answered the colonel ruefully.

The baroness's first far-away fears had been for Ed-
ward; they swept round at once to the peril nearer at
hand. " She can't stop in that cab," said the baroness.

Thomasine took this aa a permission to go and fetch her.

" Is she white or black ! " inquired Edward, looking up
from an illustrated paper.

"Brown," replied his uncle.

Thomasine was already halfway down the stairs; she
found Eliza seated on a step.

" I've got a convert in the cupboard room," said Eliza.

"A what! "

"A convert — one of those black bronzes the mission-
aries bring over, to make believe they've got dozens more
over there t "

" Let me pass to her at once, please, Eliza."

"Oh, certainly, miss. Is she to go into the drawing-
room f I shouldn't have thought converted niggers were
quite In the colonel's line, or pefhapa she's only just
enough converted for himl" There the prim, starched
creature sniggered audibly, and complainingly commenced
following ber young mistress down the passage. " I did
wrong, I suppose, as usual, to let her in, but I couldn't
bear to leave a young female unprotected, sitting chatting,
as amicable as possible, with a tipsy cabman at Baron
Lisse's door."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

"Was she talking to Mm? Was he really tipsy?"
Thomasine put the queetious nervously, her hand on the
door handle.

"Pray, why should he not be?" replied the righteous
Eliza. " Don't you piy into the common people, Freule,
but just leave the likes of me to know about the likes
of them." She checked the Freule. " Now, what can the
colonel want with native Christiana I" she demanded.
" He certainly hasn't dressed this one correct."

"You will know all about her to-morrow, Elixa."

But that was not at all Eliza's idea of her position in
the family. " I dara say I did wrong," she persisted, with
the plaintive note that was always successful in the case
of the baroness. Consciously impeccable, she enjoyed sug-
gesting illusory errors on her part. Her life was a long
devotion to the " quality " she imagined she despised, and
a persistent disparagement of her own class, whom she
would allow nobody but herself to condemn.

" I am frozen quite dead," said Laura Baleyne.

The two girls entered the drawing-room together, side
by side. North and South, calm and storm.

The professor rose, and swept the stranger his very best
court bow.

" Fortunately not quite," said the professor.

The young lady cast the poor old crumpled gentleman
a glance which too plainly expressed contempt for such
scientific exactitude. She sat down on a low settee by
the fire and wrapped her cloak, in great swathings, all
about her. It was a marvelous cloak, dark crimson cloth
outside, but, inside, a magnificent tiger skin, tawny and
striped, with a head, goggle-eyed, in the hood. The two
ladies Lisse contemplated it with attention.

" I like you," said Laura, nodding to the baronees, and
loosening the furry folds about her slender neck.

The colonel smiled uncomfortable approval.

" Thank you," dryly replied Jane, Baroness Liase.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00yIf

THE HEALERS

" You don't look like as if you came out of a baud-
boz, like the women over here," continued the fair visitor.
" One can see that you move about and drop things and
don't trouble to pick them up."

" Oh, thank you ! " said again Jane, Baroness Lisae.
But ehe tried to bnot, unnoticed, for the wretched ball
of worsted.

The colonel, stiffly stooping, dragged it from its hid-
ing place and ostentatiously deposited it on the tea table.

" Tea, that's what men are good for," said the youthful
equatorian, nodding gravely. Bhe threw back — with a
sudden jerk that caused the poor professor to start and
cough — the whole splendor of the tiger skin, and lay back
against it in her somber traveling diess under the full
reflection of the leaping flames.

"Why, old gentleman, don't yon agree with me!"

It was the colonel's turn to jump, on the hearth rug.
" This is my brother," he said, very loud, " Baron Lissel "

The lithe young creature agalnat the tiger skin opened
wide a pair of great black eyes, like Htars, in a clear-brown
oval face. "Well, isn't he old?" she queried. "Surely,
nobody minds being called old when they've got to be
as old as he I Or she ! " A sweep of a long thin hand in
the direction of the baroness, who smiled in the moat
friendly manner.

" I don't mind at all," said the baroness ; " I shall be
fifty next June."

" You don't look it," flashed the colonel.

" Old's old and young's young," opined Laura, with a
alow glance of intelligence at Thotnasine and Edward.
The latter was trying his hardest to keep his eyes away
from everybody else's, especially from Tbomasine's, But
there was no mirth in the colonel's answer.

" You won't say that, young lady, when you're between
the two ages yourself — " The colonel's eyes went search-
ing, with but faint desire to see. for a looking-glass. He

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

did not thca«f ore immediately observe how Laura's pretty
tip§ hung pouting.

" You always contradict me," slie protested. " Nobody
ever contradicted me in Sumatra. Does everybody al-
ways contradict everybody else in Holland I"

" They do," said Edward, breaking his long silence with
rather unnecessary energy. " 'Tis our most marked national
characteristic In this country everybody persistently dis-
approves of everybody else." The challenge in his look
and his voice were for Thomasine, but before she could
fly to her customary defense of the fatherland I^ura dis-
concerted everybody by bursting into vdiement tears,

" I don't want to be disapproved of," she sobbed. " I —
I don't believe I'm all — disapprovable I It is so cold and
uncomfortable, and I know I shall never do as they want
me to I O Colonel Liss^ why did poor father seed me
to Europe? Oh — oh— oh— <ih, I want to go back to
Falembangl" She flung herself back recklessly into the
great tiger skin ; she dragged a paw of it across her face ;
the soft fur welled up all around her.

" Uy dear," said the colonel kindly, " he sent you to
me."

The dark face flashed forth from behind the tiger paw
in a ripple of laughter.

" My dearl " she echoed gayly. " And we only met yes-
terday. Now that would be improper at Palembangl "

Again the two ladiee Lisse exchanged glances. The
colonel's tanned skin does not easily show change of color,
but it can. To the gently nurtured womankind of his
own family he was at that moment an object of unmixed
commiseration. His niece came to his relief.

" Mother, shall I show Miss Baleyne to her room? " she
said, and vrithout awaiting further parley she carried the
young stranger, tiger akin and all, away.

When the door had securely closed upon the two girls

the professor's ^ea flew round to Edward's, vta the colo-

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

nel, and father and son laughed till the chandelier rang.
The baroness knitted. Edward deaieted first.

" Poor little thing ! " he said.

The grateful colonel caught at the words.

" Yes, educated, jou know," he said, " at Palembang."

" Not ' educated ' i " The baroness lifted her face to
her brother-in-law. She had neither begun to laugh nor
stopped smiling.

" Quite so, Jane. Not educated. Dragged up anyhow.
Petted. Spoiled. Native servants. Mother dead. A
great loss that, Jane." The colonel shook hia head.
"Father dead now. Brave man, father! So here she is.
His legacy."

" He has left her to you I " The professor's mirth had
gone suddenly grave, like an owl.

"He has, Thomas."

" And what has he left to her 9 "

" Me."

The baroness's smile grew perceptibly thinner. " Laugh,
my dear I " she said, almost spitefully, to her husband.

Immediately Edward swept a stumbling courtesy to the
colond.

" ' My dear ! ' " he repeated, " ' but that, you know,
would be improper at Palembang I ' " And again he be-
gan to laugh; but his father spoke, annoyed.

" And what, pray, are you going to do with your legacy,
Francis!"

" Not marry her, unless you compel me to. That's the
one thing I feel clear about. And so I've brought her
here."

" School," said the baroness, knitting fast.

"My dear Jane, she's nineteen,"

" Family," said the baroness, knitting faster.

"Yea, but where! who! what! how!" cried the dis-
tracted soldier.

"Here, for the present," said Baron Lisse.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

OHAPTEH IV

So for the next few weeks the exotic Laura bloBBomed
on the elugsiah Leyden canal. Meanwhile the colonel ad-
vertised and inquired, in a restless search for "refined,
comfortable homes,"

"I should like to stay here and amuse you all," said
Laura to the baroness, "but the colonel says you're not
refined and comfortabl& And I'm bo anxious to learn
juBt what one ou^t to do. It's all ao odd and difficult.
Of course you're not what we should call comfortable at
Falembang, but, then, ereiything's little and poor here,
compared to the East." Clever as the baronees knew her-
self to be, she could not have told what intentions lay
behind Laura's innocent smiles. "The colonel says you
always say," remarked Laura, "that you cannot manage
ordinary girls I "

Kow this was manifestly unfair to the baioness, who
never would have described the beautiful Sumatran as
" an ordinary girl." On the contrary, she perceived in her
magnificent material for a great Oriental figure to be
worked with fine effect into "Balaam," and, expressly
abandoning "Edward, or the CruHader's Sacrifice," she
hariced back to the eleventh canto of her epic, which is
enlivoied, as we are now all aware, by the appearance of
the lurid Moabite princess, Liriam. The daughter of the
house still sat copying, copying, in that clear, firm hand of
hers, for hours.

Laura Bal^ne could not, for the life of her, have
copied anything or anybody. Besides, her handwriting
ran along, charmingly unreadable, in what may he de-

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEES

scribed as arabeequee. But she rarelr troubled to write
anything except little pencil scrawls to Edward to come
and amtise her at once. Such a aummoos the yo\ra^ gen-
tleman found frequent occasion to obej, leaving Bciape
of his work with Thomaaine.

" I am cold, cold," reiterated Laura, who seemed to have
consumed in a fortnight the store of caloric which lasts
BO many old Indians through their first two winters in
the North. Bo she spent much of her time by the draw-
ing-room fire, on the sofa, or, better still, on the rug, in
the tiger skin. And this is the story of the tiger skin.
Had Uajor Beleyne become possessed of it and its origi-
nal occupant two minutes sooner, there would not have
been a little brown baby inside the occupant, as there
was. Says Laura, puffing up the horrible thing and in-
serting her own shapely arm, " With a little imagination
you can see it there stilL" Her own imagination was
boundless. If she closed hei eyes, she said she could
dream erery perfume of the East. Then she opened them
(sometimes a little moist) on the Leydeu canaL

" Tours is the finest vocation on earth," she said to
Edward. " I have wished all my life I could study medi-
cine."

" You i " He laughed.

" Yes. Aren't women banning to, all over the world?
But not at Palembang. I could have done it quite as well
as Thomaaine."

" You would sicken at the sight of blood."

Her reply was unexpected. She drew a long pin from
her hair and scratched across her arm. "I love blood,"
she said, watching the slow drops as th^ shaped them-
selves. "Blood's life — the one thing you doctors know
nothing about — the wonderful human life) If all this
were to flow out, I should be a lump of clay. Why I
Where did my soul go to! You can't see life come, but
you can see it go. If only we knew what it is — life I I

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

love to see it flow I " She crouclied, amid the mass of the
dead monster, and squeezed her arm.

" By George I " thouglit Edward, watching h^. That
thought was to him a new one. All the reat of his life
he remembered all about it, and remembered that it took
the form of "By Geoi^!"

"Yes, I should like above all things to study as you
do," she continued. " I envy you. Not because I want to
find out about the hideous diseases that we oughtn't to
have and that nobody can cure — the horrible, stupid dis-
eases that are all a mistake we make for ourselves by
living wrong — but because I could get down deeper into
the soul-body — oh, you know what I mean, though I can't
express it technically — the force that makes the body,
well or ill, what it is — the life that people are only just
beginning to understand about and believe in I " She
paused for a moment ; then she turned and looked straight
into his eyes. "Aie you happy in your choice t" she
asked.

"Tee," he answered quickly. "You know 1 am not
going to practice as a physician. My father says that
means two-thirds humbug and one-third worry. My
father is the greatest bacteriologist living. I shall hope
to carry on his work."

The reply was a long-drawn shake of the head.

" Why do you do that ! " he demanded.

"Don't ask me," she replied, and then added: "But I
want to tell you. Oh, I know what you mean by bao —
what do you call it! Curing people by making them ill
till they don't mind itl Filling them up with disease
germs, instead of strengthening their vital force I"

He stared at her in amused amazement.

"Don't stare at me like that I" she cried irritably,

steadying him at once. " You scientific men always think

no one ought to talk that can't use your proper jargon.

I wish you could have talked to my father; he'd have

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THE HEALERS

explained. The tropics are a hotbed of microbes — ^fill a'
man up vith an the fever seeds till thejr're acclimatised I
'Tis that what you bactey — oh, you know— ologists say.
Instead of providing him. with the strength to weed his
garden clean!"

" If we bad the recipe for the universal weed killer — "
began Edward.

" You've never looked for it — never I I tell yon — oh, I
core so much; I can't keep silencel I've been watching
you theee weeks. I know I'm stupid, and not properly
edacatfid, and don't know how to behave; but I can see,
I can see — ^you're starting on this splendid labor of your
life all wrong I Leave your father's Semicolon to your
father. He has thirty years before him yet."

"I fear you are very much mistaken," he replied,
greatly hurt in his filial affection by her matter-of-fact
tone. The tragic-comic Longman episode, with its far-
reaching effect on Edward's future, had certainly bred in
his mind a general contempt for medical practice and
practioee, but it had left a vague conviction with him,
nevertheless, that his father's days were numbered.

" I am not mistaken," she answered, solemn aa a judge.
"I know for certain." She saw that her manner was
causing him annoyance. "I read it in hia hand," she
added softly. "Ah, now, mock me, if you want tol
Mock I"

A moment's silence, then his lips were at her ear.
" Will yon look at my hand I " he whispered.

She hid her face deep down in the thick folds of the
tiger skin, " No I " came from under it in tones of
muffled v^iemence. "No! Ko!"

" Why, I believe you have looked at it already, on the
sly, and discovered that I died in my teens."

"Oh, mock!" she said again; "mock I Had you lived

iriieie I come from you would not laugh at superstition.

Father used to laugh before he was converted. Do you

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THE HEALEEB

know what couverted father I I was not alwaye his only
child. I had an elder Bister — ah, beautiful I One evening
ebe was sitting in the reranda — she was sixteen — md an
old Chinese peddlei came worrying her with his vaiea.
She was angry with him — she was passionate aa she was
kind-hearted — and she bade him desist ; and he would not,
and she flung from her one of the toys he had placed in
her lap and it broke. She threw him money, but it could
not appease him ; he turned at the compound gate and he
cursed her. 'This day we^,' be said, 'I will come to
yon at this hour. I will fetch you. I shall not fail.'
She would not look at her watch, as she passed into the
house, but the clock struck six, so she knew. Uy father
laughed. Ah I " — the girl ehuddered — *' and she laughed
also, and II Five days later she sickened with fierce
fever; in her delirium she never ceased calling the China-
man. We told her the wrong date, hanging the calendar
by the bedside, but she shook her head. On the fatal Sat-
urday she was silent, and slept much. While she slept I
pushed forward, a full hour, the slov hands of the clock.
As the shadows were falling — our swift Eastern sunset —
she woke. 'What time is itt' she asked me. I said,
' Seven.' She whispered. I bent over her. She whispered
again, 'Does the Chinaman forget me!* She whispered
these words even fainter, till, as the clock struck seven,
which was aix, ahe died."

"And the Chinaman)" questioned Edward, breathless
in spite of himself.

Laura slowly resumed control of her voice. "The
Chinaman was never seen again. The doctor expluoed
everything to my father, all but the changed hour on the
clock. A>i, yes, they explain I But at last even the doc-
tor said — ^how well I remember it! — 'There be things on
this earth of ours, Horatio, that you and I know nothing
about I' And he slapped on bis helmet and went off."
She had half-lifted herself up, on the hearth rug, in
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THE HEALERS

B of her nanatloa ; she now eank back, sud-
denly limp. " I have never oaderatood what he meant by
caUing father Horatio, for father's Christian name was
John."

This problem Edward left nnsolved. When be opened
his lips, it was merely to say, " Strange! "

I^nra had covered ber face with her bauds, but at the
BeriouB tone of bis voice she dropped them gladly : " Ah t "
she cried, "I am so pleased 1 You are not one of the
idiots who snicker and pass on I "

" But what has this to do with my studying medicine t "
be pleaded. " What do you mean by my taking up the
thing wrong!"

She moved ber lips; her color came and went. " Oh I
what do I knowt" she burst out; "I am only a poor
ignorant girL I don't even know how to behave I " She
would talk no more. Beeolutely turning her hot face to
the congenial blase, she begged him to get her the French
novel be had promised, Daudet's pathetic " Jack," the new
book that everyone was reading. The baroness had cried
over it. How dreadful to think a mother could thus
neglect her child I

The Cbriatmas holidays bad Just brought back the two
younger girls, and, dear me, the house was so full and
noisy you could hardly, sighed the baroness, find time
for a quiet read! She trusted Thomasine would many
ere Jane came home for good next year. And the colonel
had shown bis usual lack of consideration — but what,
pray, could Imphj-Boahek consider vtithi — in foisting
this imwbolesome exotic upon them at Christmas time
to corrupt with fantastic perfumes the lavender-kept
hearts of the schoolgirls. To be sure, be now wrote that
he expected soon to find a suitable home for her. Pray,
what would you call "suitable" ! The Zoot

"Fie!" spake the professor; for no human male can

endure to be very rude about a pretty woman. Long

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THE HEALEB8

centuriea of experience have led as to defend her, in-
Btinctively, agBuiBt her sex. And the chivalrous, enthiui-
astic professor was far too simply human in all hia
impulses not to make kindliest room for the brown waif
that had dropped into his family aa it were out of some
far^istaDt cocoanut tiee. " Cocoanut," indeed, the
baroness — a good woman, but feminine — ^had already
dubbed her. Eliza never spoke of this dark-skinned crea-
ture otherwise than as " The Witch," and hinted at
swarthiest reasons for doing so. B^ged to be explicit,
she repKed, while the stream of her insinuations flowed
on, that wild horses would not drag another word from
her. The prophecy was a facile one in Leyden. One
Bpecnlatea what would have been the actual effect of a
live wild horse prancing down the moss-grown streets in
search of Eliza.

But in Eliza's little autocracy no one had the wish or
the courage to exert influence of any kind. The baroness,
securely ensconced between screen and writing table,
would remark to her husband, with a shade of reeentmrait
in her voice :

" Jfy dear, there's Eliza 1 I can hear her coming down
the passage. Why can't she let ua alone ) " For the
maid walked with an iambic step (bow vexed would
she have been to know thisl), a lift and a far-sounding
bang.

"We're safe in the sanctnm," replied the professor,
applying his eye to his microscope. (" Sanctum, indeed,"
says Eliza. " Den t " She unreasonably designates the
Semicolon as " vermin 1 " She is mortally afraid of the
unexplored side of the professor's door. " Full of creep-
ing things," she says, "like Peter's blanket." The pro-
fessor encourages this view.)

" I suppose she's in one of her rare paroxysms of self-
distrost," sighs the baroness. " The last was about dis-
missing the fat butcher, because he cried."

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THE HEALERS

"He was not only fat, but also good-looking," replies
the profesBor.

" My dear I "

"My dear, I beg yoot pardon. And, also, be was a
primitiTe CalviiuBt, like Eliza herself."

Meonvhile Eliza is heard fidgeting at the door and
shrilly protesting that butter is up again a penny in the
pound, and she daren't take the responsibility upon her.
The baroness, with poised pen, answers aa shrilly that the
kitchen might just as well eat "marjoram" (she means
" margarine "). Eliza screams disapproTal. The pro-
fessor appears in the doorway.

" The rise of butter, Eliza," be begins, " is an econoDiic

" If yon call it economic I " snort« Eliza.

"Which passes absolutely beyond our control."

" I deny it I " cries Eliza. " X never let the key of the
larder out of ray sight."

"Tou don't understand," mildly retorts the professor,
and doses the door again.

The step of the murmuring maid is heard clanking
away into silence down the marble lobby. " Bhe has
driven Imphi's reply right out of my poor head," sor-
rows the baroness, " and it was so idiotically inane. Just
the thing Frank was boimd to have said I But it's im-
possible to compose really good poetry when you're
crushed by the whole burden of a household like oars."

The professor steals behind h^ chair and kisses her on
the forehead. " Tee, dearest, you ate our pivot," he says.

But at this the downright baroness wipes her eyes,
" Xo, Eliza is that," she replies cheerfully, and starts in
fresh search of Imphi's response.

" I wonder," she says presently, having reached the pas-
sage where Liriam gives Balaam, by mistake, the love
potion intended for Balak, "I wonder if Eliza really bas
reasons for calling I.aura a witch." She lays down her
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THE HEALEKS

pen Bnd gazee contempUtiTely at the portrait of the
professor, in student costume, on her bit of wall. That
is all she ever sees, for the screen is between her and the
rest of the room and the garden.

" 6he alwaya has reaaons," replies the professor, mov-
ing his microscope.

"I mean reaaonahle reasons."

" ISo woman ever has those for calling another woman a
witch."

"Why 'woman,' professor I"

" A man ma; — if she have bewitched him."

" Poor Laura I " says the scomfull; tranquil baroness.

Poor Laura lay, without any thought of bewitching
anybody, on the tiger skin by the biggest fire in the house,
gracefully curved over her novel, her day dreams, and her
chocolates. The chocolates were often provided by Ed-
ward, and Bometimee by the professor. In the day dreams
the professor bad no share. The young lady discovered a
persisteut liking for expensive sweets.

" So natural after all, mamma," argued Thomasine.

"In an Oriental houri," admitted the baronees. "I
understand that in the harems they eat Salaam Aleikoom
all day."

" What is a houri, mamma* "

The baronees blushed, obliged to confess rather hastily
that she did not know. "But I am sorry that I called
Miss Bal^rne o houri," she said, " for I fear it is some-
thing improper."

On New Year's Eve — Saint Sylvester, they call it in
Holland — Laura appeared in such a low-backed scarlet
glory as that simple Dutch household was quite unaccus-
tomed to see. " Saint Sylvester " calls all the world, and
the worldliest wife, to evening service once in the year,
if never before.

" Good gracious I " exclaimed the baroness, " you are
not going to churcji like that I "
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THE HEALEES

"So, Laara was not going to church.

"Yon are a heathen, then! A Mohammedan! Tour
rdigiOD," peraisted the irate mother of three daughters,
" is that of the people in the tropics, the blackat "

"Neither theirs nor jionre," replied Laura with spirit,
"but I promised m; father never to enter a churcb."
Her lips trembled: she burst into tears. Such a confes-
sion, of cont^ rendered further exhortation in^ossible,
but the baroness, seizing her gold-clasped " Church Book,"
did not Btay to dry the tears.

Nor could Edward. He thought of them a good deal,
however, during the long, long sermon, and he came to
the conclusion that it la a mistake to say weeping dis-
figures all women. When a man has reached that stage
it is time he should reflect upon witchcraft.

At the traditional midnight supper of oTSters and
mulled wine Laura was as vivaoioua as any of them, with
that rather self-conscious gayety which belongs to the
change of the year. She betrayed a fascinating ignorance
of all the beet-known Dutch customs. The young people
crowded around her with laughter and shrill little criee.
Suddenly her own merriment died down to a thrill of
perferrid intereet. Into a bowl of wateiv— the suf^^tion
had been Edward's — ^they were dropping melted wax to
read the future by. She waited to the last, shrinking
bach. Edward's fate bad been a ring. She took the
spoon, closed her eyes, turned it swiftly. "A cross I"
cried the second girl, Jane.

" But, surely, my dear Laura," expostulated the haron-
esB, " surely you, who are an atheist, attach no importance
to portents!" The baroness's own prognostic had been a
(bay!) wreath. The beautiful Indian, without replying,
rustled away in her trailing scarlet silk to the farther end
of the room. The quiet " Fieulee " gazed after her.

" But atbeista are always superstitious, my dears," re-
marked the baroness, amackiiig her lipa to her three

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THE HEALEES

daughtere. "Dear Laura," she added very kindly, "70a
ought to read jour Bible. Begia this year. I should like
to give you one. I wish I could read a chapter with you
every morning, if only I could find the time. We might
go straight through. I read it Id the original, you know,
BO I could explain to you all the passages that other people
don't understand."

" Oh, bow I wish they'd taught us that at school I "
cried two of the three daughters. They all admired their
gifted mother, as variously as Edward did.

" I never went to school," the baroness continued com-
placently, sticking her waxen wreath around her little
finger and breakii^ it. Oh, brittle glory 1 " I bad a gov-
emesa who couldn't spell. But I remember when I was
only seventeen your Uncle Francis came in one evening
and asked me to join their dancing class. 'I couldn't,'
I said ; ' I spend my evenings with " Fhaedo." ' ' Can't
somebody else look after him t ' asked your tJncle Francis.
He thought Fhaedo was a little dog, Thomas — ^he thought
he was a little dog! "

"And why shouldn't he!" replied the professor.
" What business has a soldier with the immortality of the
Bonll " The professor sat sipping his glass of mulled wine
and considering his own little ball of wax. " World-wide
fame I" Thomasine had explained it to mean.

"Now, had you read the 'Fhaedo,' Laura," said the
baroness, "you would have known that atheism ia non-
sense, and that the soul survives after death."

" I know it now," exclaimed Laura. " The Scarlet
Sin" (Eliza's jost-coined gibe) stood in frftnt of the
professor, with tightly compressed bands. "I am not a
freethinker," she hurried on, at bay, in a fury her furtive
indifference might long have foretold. " Still less an
atheist. I know as well as you— better, a hundred times
better — that there exist all around us powers of evil and
of good. I fear them and love them and serve them and

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THE HEALERB

fight them. Th«y ore all KTOund us. They aie listening
to me now."

The youngest girl, Jacoba, screamed as if she had seen
agboet.

" Ify poor cibild," said the baroness softly, aorrovfully
(yet delighted with this new sort of "Sudor" light on
Liiiam), " has nobody ever told you that all that is very
wrong!"

LauTS turned on her. "You let a donkey talk I" she
exclaimed. "Who was it, think you, talked in the don-'
key — a spirit, or the donkey's soul?" She opened her
arms, spreading them forward. " They are evetywhere,"
she said in a low voice, "tlie invisible intelligences.
They are all around us. If only we could see than I"

Jacoba looked round swiftly, trying to peer behind her
own back. Jane shut her eyee.

"Quite possibly!" said the profeeaor, and soothingly
sipped his wine.

" Tra-la-la I You believe no such nonsense I " cried the
baroness.

"I believe," said the professor, "whatever can be
proved."

"And the Protestant religion," protested the baroness.

" Of course," said Baron Lisae.

Edward, proverbially politer than most of the brothers
in Leyden, had dug Jacobs in the ribs with an audible
" Idiot I " when she screamed, thereby giving her a sud-
den foretaste of fraternal frenzies in the near future. He
now frowned heavily, and quick Laura caught the frown.

"Proof!" she cried; "you shall have your proof to-
night. As much as yon want of it I Before the year is
outl That ia how you all talk — give us proof 1 You ask
for it and you hurry away. None of you ever comes for
it. Proof 1 nothing ia easier." She glanced at the clock.
"Push that table here, Edward" — the baroness started —
" Mr. Edward. The little round table will do admirably.
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Ahl yoa want proof that there ore spirits anmnd tia,
liatenitig in this room! Now, all come here, girls. Hold
roar hands thus; let me teach you. Ah I you want to
know the future, do yout I can show you a better way
than dn^iping wax. Oh, no, Hr. Edward, you need
not turn the lamps down! No, no, we can have the foil
light of the lampal"

The young people dosed up round the table, fingers
joining, in a tremble of expectation and pale-faced de-
light.

" Thomas, forbid this I " whispered the baroness.

He drew nearer to her. "Ky dear, it's a joke— only
table-turning I Far better let them do it, and explain the
whole thing afterwards."

She felt that she could not, at her age, hegm disagree-
ing with her husband, so she stood watching the excited
group round the table. Praaently^-well, even under such
favorable circumstanoee, of course, it takes a little time —
the thing began to revolve; a few minutes lat«r it rapped.
The baroness sank into a comer, muttering an exorcism,
a sudden memory of child days, half a century ago, with
s Catholic nurse in Brabant The five young pec^^
their eyee fiashing, quivered round the reetleas piece of
fnmitnie. The professor sat smiling placidly. Explain
it all presently. A purely physical effect

" Hush I " said Laura imperiously, in the deepening si-
Imce. " Listen, while I ask, ' Is my father dead I ' " The
table answered, "Yes." "When did he diet" The table
spelled his age, fort^-eeren. "Shall I live as long as
thatt" "No," repHed the table. "It never varies," said
Laura.

" Let ufl stop 1 " protested Edward.

" No 1 No ! " cried the breathless girls. They were
eager to ask a dozen momentous questions. The table
stammered forth answers in its usual cumbeisome way.

The baroness had drawn gradually nearer; she laid a
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THE HEALEBS

slov band upon Laura's bare arm. " Ask it — " she said,
gazing across at her coagHing husband ; " ask it — " She
tnmed awa; and went back to her chair in the dark
Gomer.

Jacoba now wanted to know all about marriage, and
"Who to!" "What aort of a uniform!"

The bsroness'e nmnnur aoimded distant between the
rsppinge:

The baron sat nodding his bead over human foolish-
nesB. In the midst of all this perturbation the solemn
dock struck twelve; they would hardlj have been aware
of it bat for the sudden accompaniment of the clashing
church bells outside. AH halted and stared at each other.
The table stood stilL It had just announced that two
misfortunes would befall the house of Lisse in the follow-
ing year. The next moment it was flying round again,
BO that it might, if possible, particularize the approaching
evils.

The professor alone saw the door glide slowly open and
Eliza appear on the threshold, a flaming bowl in her
anxious hands. " You didn't ring," she b^an in irri-
tated protest, " so I thought I had better come, and I
wish you a — " Here she caught sight of the whisking,
bumping table. Straight down, with a single crash — her
first and only time of dropping; the liquid fire ran all
over the carpeted floor I

" Miefortune Number One," said the baroness from her
comer with almost e sigh of relief. Edward ran for the
hearth rug to extinguish the flames. The girls grouped
themselves in alarm round the guilty table.

The professor, with outstretched arm, addressed himself
directly to Eliza. "A purely physical phenomenon," he
was saying. " Charcot has dranoDstrated on his patients

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THE HEALERS

that the muacke — " In his eagernesa to point the truth
at her he advanced into the burning puddle, and bb he
skipped back precipitately the grim CalviniBm of Eluea
caught at the proffered simile. She held her long bony
finger inverted abysmally over the blue flames that s^
arated them. "The end," she aaid, "of all witches and
sorcerers — h-e-double 1."

That night there was no more table-tnming. Before
the girls went up to their rooms the professor explained
everything. When he thought he had quite done, Laura,
with lips she had bitten till they bled, told him, told them,
all her dreadful Chinaman story. He explained that to
her alao. At least, he told her why the army surgeon had
called her father Horatio.

Kext morning Eliza gave warning. She said she loved
only one thing better than the Lisse family, and that was
her immortal souL

The baroness, little given to foolish weeping, sought
her huaband, in tears. " Misfortune Number Two," she
sobbed. " If Elisa goes, I must bury my talent in a nap-
kin. I have always called her the pi-pi-pivot os which
this entire household turns."

" Tou wrong yourself," said the professor gravely. He
sat sorting his numerous New Year's cards in two great
heaps ; oue of those he must acknowledge and one of those
he could ignore. But he had got them transposed in his
mind, and was methodically tearing up the wrong ones.

"And this miafortune will not come off," added the
professor gravely; as, of course, it did not. Eliza had
never before been anywhere near giving notice, and she
certainly cried a greet deal and was very much in eameat.
But Thomasine explained to her that departure, by im-
mediately making true the table's prophecy of terrible
misfortune would irresistibly convert the baroness to the
certainties of Bpirit-rapping, and Eliza said, "Let me
think that out." An hour or two later she called her
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THE HEALERS

TOUQg miatress, with much display of mystery, and led
her, finger on lips and toes a-tiptoe, down the gloomy side
pAHoage to the door oi the guest room at the farther
end. By that door, which was closed and locked, she sank
prone, and, peeping through a chink in the lower panel,
motioned to Thomasine to come and do the same. To
her disgust and amazement the Fi«nle refused, even when
adjured by her mother's salvation. What Elisa saw,
shuddering, was this. The brown witch, in a loose
Eastern garment, all yellow aunfloweiB and blue dragons,
seated by a table, rigid, her ejf» bandaged, seemingly
asleep, while one hand, with a pencil, moved in nervous
shakes and trembles on a great sheet of paper spread in
front of her.

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CHAPTER V

Tbbiis of the Peace: First, that the baroaees reject the
housemaid's proposal to send the green carpet to the
cleaner's. Secondly, that the baroness promise solemnly
to i«moTe the witch from the house at the earliest oppor-
tunity. " Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," quoted
Eliza, standing, her arms akimbo. Literal execution is
rendered impracticable by the laxity of Dutch law, which
has abolished all forms of capital puniahm^it; the pas-
sage must therefore be amended, " in thine house." The
baroness promised cheerfully. To her brother-in-law, who
came to dinner on New Tear's Day, she r^uarked that a
promise is always a sacied thing.

"Not from a woman to a woman," said the colonel.
" Nor," he added, slowly thinking it out, " from a woman
to a man."

The baroness contemplated him with her habitual ex-
pression of compassion. In her ^ic Imphi-Boshek ever
babbled fatuity. She would punish him by marrying him
to the BOTceiesa Liriam. Woe betide him if he tried on
anything of the kind in real life.

" How's the poem progressing ) " he demanded abruptly<
atmoua to divert her thoughts from the wrongdoings of
Xaura.

"The fool gets his deserts," she replied grimly.

He laughed, more uproariously, she fancied, than the
occasion required. "That's right," he said; "I hate a
fooL Uarriage, Z presumed"

His perspicuity alarmed her. " What made you guess i "
ehe dananded anxiously.

" Oh, marriage is the inevitable punishment of a f ooL"

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THE HEALEHS

She heaved a contented eigli. Through her mind passed,
in BtUl complacency, the thought of her own long union
with this man's elder brother, the wedlock of two so
diversified, yet so strangely kindred, g^iiuses. She roae
up, eager to find the professor. At his study door she
knocked, as always. " Have you got that frog," she cried,
"skipping about without its brain t"

The professor opened the door wide. " Half its brain,"
he corrected her. " So living creature can exist without
any brain at alL"

" Indeed I " ahe replied, presumably thinking of the man
ahe had just quitted.

"The frog's dead," said the professor, "but there's a
pigeon that — Oh, it's got away 1 "

He ran to her writing table. She closed her eyes
tight immediately, standing well inside the door. " O
Thomas, that's against the rules I" she cried almost in-
dignantly.

He skipped about. There were sounds of falling furni-
ture, and flutterings, and the bang of a book. " Escapes
always are," be gasped back at her. " Open your eyes I "
He stood at his end of the room, with heaving chest.

The baroness sat down hurriedly in her near comer.
The distiessed pigeon had made disastrous trouble on the
rumpled sheets of " Balaam, an Epic"

" Is it very bad t " asked the professor nervously.

" Ob, / shouldn't mind," she gave answer, " but Fll
copy the worst page at once, because Thomasine is so
painfully neat." Ten minutes later she looked up from
ber desk: "'The princess spake, la Imphi-Bosbek beret'
I forgot," she said, " your brother's in the drawing-room,"

Imphi-Boshek, meanwhile, was trying to convince the
princess that the staid old patrician mansion on the Ley-
den canal was not the proper place for table-turning.
The princess listened demurely, but demureneas with her
was a very put-on trait.

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THE HEALERS

'* I'm sure to do wrone, whatever I do," ahe flashed out
nnezpectedl}' at her fatherly adviser. " So I may as well
do what I like. What's the use, pray, of restricting your
misbehavior to the doing of things you don't like! "

" I beg your pardon I " said the amiable colonel.

She shrugged her shoulders, e thing she could do grace-
fully, and turned away. "The professor is a dear old
man," she said, "and the girls are sweet and kind,
especially that poor angel Thomasine. And the baroness
means well also. Ob, yes, I can quite understand about
the baroness I Of course, she is a very stupid woman, but
she means well."

"Then my nephew Edward is the only member of the
family you don't like! " said the simple colonel.

"I dislike the whole family," she answered him pat.
" There is nothing more dreadful to live with than the
people who you feel mean weU."

"Have patience but a few days longer," he begged.
"I have probably found a stiitable home for you."

" Ah 1 " she gasped.

The colonel was not the man to fathom that cry,
" Meanwhile avoid, if possible, annoying my sister-in-law,
I am surprised to hear you call her 'stupid'; we have al-
ways thought her too clever by half. She reads Plato;
you can hardly be aware of that 1 She has a theory of her
own about Balaam's ass, which she has published in a
German review. She thinks the ass was the prophet's
wife "

" A learned woman is always a stupid woman," inter-
rupted Laura pettishly, stretching her shapely figure in
the light of the flames. " I never learned anything at all,
but I am not stupid, I — at least not in her way of
imagining one knows all things. I know I am ignorant,
I. Like all sudi stupid people she can only believe the
unreasonable. Now, you" — Laura turned those great
stars of here on the dapper little colonel — " you have been
61

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THE HEALERS

in oui Indian lands; yon know of the mysteries that sur-
round ns there, the wonders that happen daily. You have
seen how much nearer, in those dimes, is the super-
natutal, the unearthly. You have heard the voic^ In the
empty chamher, have watched the pebbles fall from the
whitewashed ceiling, have felt the siri juice spurt from
the Bt«ne wall "

" Hash I hush I " he interrupted her ; " you shouldn't let
your mind revert to these things now you've got to a
Christian country. They used to make me deuced un-
comfortable, I know. You try to believe in Balaam. It
does one a lot of good. I am not learned, like the
baronees; nor clever, like you. I am a soldier, and, I trust,
a gentleman. I believe in my three ' E's,' and always
have. My King, my Kirk, my Country. That's enough
for me, and you can get emotion enough out of them, I
promise you, for all three are going to the doga. My
paper was saying, only this morning, that the king has
bad his rheumatism very bad again."

" Not that I care twopence about magic," she resumed,
"no, nor about spirit -rapping. Such things are but
squibe and crackers outside the temple, noises in the street.
They do to attract the crowd of passers-by. Go, colonel,
end talk of the day's diversion to the girls."

" I have already done so. I am arranging a distant
excursion on skates. I am sorry that is an amusement
in which yon cannot participate."

At this stage the professor entered in search of Imphi-
Boshek. " And my brother is coming, too," said the
colonel.

" At his age I " exclaimed the Sumatran.

" Skaters have no age," replied the professor, vexed.

She lay back, looking at him, hesitating, gathering
courage. " Do not go," she said.

" But, my dear young lady "

" Do not go. Please don't ! " Her eyea were pleading ;

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THE HEALEKS

her liandB plucked Bt Iier dreas. Tlie two old men etood
staring at her — ^the one, hia tall figure flung forward, his
dusty gray locks falling back like a mane from his keen,
inquisitive face; the other erect, in an attitude of protest,
at attention, his pale eyee wide open over the fierce curl
of his mustache. She rose, in her shimmer;, tight-fitting
green gown. "I entreat of you, for your own sake — I
entreat of you not to go 1 " she said.

But even to this appeal the professor, like any rational
Dutchman who gets a rare chance of a spin on the ice,
remained obdurate; the more so as Laura refused all ex-
planation of her demand. Very unwillingly she made a
final attempt to influence the baroness.

" Oh, most certainly, he must go I " exclaimed the
baroness. "I oan tell what will raise my husband's
spirits, n^ dear Laura, though I don't know, and don't
want to, about yours." The baroness laughed at her little
joke, all by herself, for quibbles did not lie in Laura's
way. All the long, lovely day of the excursion the latter
locked herself up in her bedroom, " talking with the devil
all the time," said Eliza, who tried vainly to catch scraps
of the conversation through the keyhole.

The professor came home in an ecstasy. To his last
day he rconained an enthusiastic enjoyer of small pleasures
— an excellent recipe, among others, for keeping young.
" You see what a boy I am 1 " he exclaimed, coughing.
All langhed at the Southcraer'a morbid terror of ice.

In the night, however, he gasped himself awake. In the
morning his temperature was 100°. The family doctor,
hastily summoned, suggested pneumonia. This doctor's
name was Postle — the man who invented Postle's Aerated
Bibe. He was a little man, with a sharp nose, a frown,
end an air of knowing better than you. He rose from
a careful auscultation, and fixed his wise eyes on the
expectant Edward.
"Both lungs are affected," he said.

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THE HEALEES

" Impossible ! " cried Edward indignantly.

"Sir I" cried the fat little doctor, more indignantly
stilli He had known Edward from a baby. He had taken
an interest in him even earlier. Edward had worn the
thirteenth — no, the fourteenth — aerated hib. The sale
haa now surpassed thirty thousand.

" Sir I " repeated Dr. Postle, swiftly defiant.

" He has only one," explained Edward.

" Absurd I " said the doctor, tapping the stethoscope.

" So Longman has told him," persisted Edward.

"Ah!" said Postle, He put his finger to hia nose.
"The symptoms must be reflex," he said. "Yes, un-
doubtedly, the symptoms are reflex. A very common
complication," he said. "Be sure that I shall take it
into account."

Whatever the symptoms were — and he sure they were
not fo^otten in Fostle's acconnt — they very nearly did
for the professor. He got so dead tired of coughing,
there came a moment when he felt he would rather die
than cough any more. He had to do a lot of coughing
after that. When Laura walked into the room at last
and stilled bis ceaseless shaking, he called her an angel
from heaven — ^to herself and to Edward, not to the
baroness.

The professor had never had an acute illness before,
and the household was immediately and hopelessly upset
over him — over his temperature and his diet and the
doctor's face and the heat (or the cold or the smoke) of
the sick-room, and all the hourly cackle and flutter which
accompany everywhere birth, danger, and death.

In the universal confusion, and while the certified
nuise was committing the usual errors — omitting to shake
down the thermometer, and leavii^ the window open to
close the door, or vice versa, and waking the patient (at
the wrong hour) to give him his medicine, which she had
forgotten, and then giving him the wrong one, or his

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THE HEAL£BS

lotion — ^whilfl all was in the average state of turmoil and
exhaustion, and Eliza sat weeping in her cloeet over
failures to produce an unaocustomed calfa-f oot jelly, the
" Exotic " picked beraelf off the drawing-room sofa, aban-
doning her Freach novel and half-emptied box of sweet-
meats, and walked through the sick man's door, which
the certified nurse had left open in her deecent, after
three vain ringings, to find out why her own afternoon
tea wee seven minutes late. She — Laura — unlocked that
' door to Edward, when he pressed through, as it were, to
tell her that the hospital nurse was enjoying hysterical
weepings and sal volatile downstairs. "I know nothing
about treatments," said Laura, "but I know about in-
valids."

The professor declared gratefully next morning: "I
have slept. I have slept a couple of hours at a stretch."

She moved about noiselessly, and her movements had
none oi the stealthy tremor of "gliding"; she gave the
sick man what he wanted before he had asked for it;
she rested sufficiently, when he did not need her, bo that,
as soon as he called for her, she could come to him
without drawn cheeks or tired eyes or checked gaspa.
Above all, she had none of that forced gayety of tone
which is taught to the profeeaion. In a word, she was a
model carer for the sick. The " Bister," creeping upstairs
to take her place for the night, hung over the landing
and informed Elica in a stage whiaper that "some
people'd a thousand times rather see their patients suc-
cumb than employ some means that some people em-
ployed to get them better by." Eliza banged-to her door,
incapable of a righteous answer, but, having heard of a
house where spirit-rapping failed because, as the spirit
rapper said, it contained too many Bibles, she dragged
the prayer books upstairs from their present disuse and
piled them up against the wall of the profeesor'a bedroom,
in the passage, where th^ somehow toppled over in the
65

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEB8

silence of the small hotira, nesrl; frightemng the nuise,
BOimd asleep over a comic paper, into "fiW Eliia did
Ii6t SlMp much, praying day and night that Proridence
might employ even the witch to restore her profeeaor.

It was on^ two days later that Edward surprised
Lanra in the act of " mesmerizing " the patient, by means
of magnetic passes down his face and limbs. " She calms
mj cough, I tell you. She pats me to sleep," wearily in-
sisted the professor. Edward, standing by, confounded,
saw that it was true. In those days hypnotism was an
infant science; Charcot was only just banning to con-
vince the world of its legitimacy. To Edward, dimly
realizing an undreamed and distant future, a whole new
field of medical research, psychic, and therefore, to his
bent of mind, unexpectedly attractive — to Edward the
moment remains unforgettable, when he saw his father
sink, under those simple passes, into alow but certain re-
pose. "Do I know howl Ho, I know nothing," an-
swered Laura. " I know that it is the spirit which is
ill, not the body. The light bums low, not the lamp.
Edward, leave your searchings into sickness, and study
the health of the soul I "

The first use the professor made of his incipient con-
valescence was to assure Laura, with many graceful utter-
ances of gratitude, that the expression of the baroness's
face meant worry, worry alone. Thereupon, Laura no-
ticed that expression, and told Edward she didn't mind.

The baroness, weeping herself ill during many long
hours in the now deserted study, composed verses of
prayer for her husband's recovery. They are by far the
best things she ever wrot«. When the patient was defi-
nitely mending, she also thanked Laura quite prettily.
To her husband she said, " Non iaU auxilio," but, dear me,
he was very considerably mended before she said that.

He was so much mended that the colonel had been
allowed to come and see him. " And you needn't tell

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THE HEALERS

me," said the colonel, "that our skating excimion had
anything to do with your iUness. Pe^w I As if healthy
bodily ezerclee could make a man lUI There are three
CBuees of disease, three only. I call them the three ' In'a ' :
Intemperance, Inaction, and In — which is my third ' In ',
Jane!"

"Incapacity," answered the baroneae promptly.

" Possibly, I always enjoy excellent health myself."

The baroness dropped a stitch.

" And I quite agree with the Bague Courant, that the
causee of our illneeaes are never what we think. Oh, no,
it was speaking, I remember now, of our political ilia!
But if'the skating had had anything to do with it (whi<^
it hadn't), the fault would have been yours, Laura, for
it is you that would have — ^what is the new word ( — ^hip —
Hp "

" Hurrah I " said Laura.

" Hypotheked the professor into believing he must fall
ill."

"The professor would allow nobody to hypothek him,
whatever that may mean," interposed the professor's wife
severely.

" The whole thing is a mystery," said the invalid him-
self, in humble tones, " a mystery I cannot at present pre-
tend to fathom."

The colonel rose from his chair. " Well, well, it is time
I was going," he remarked. "I — I have a little bit of
news, Laura, which I fancy will not be altogether dis-
agreeable. I have found an admirable home for you — a
widow lady, who takes a couple of paying guests, at
Brussels." He stood watching her face. They all watched
her.

She lifted her eyes. " Indeed? " she said.

The baroness flew after her brother-in-law. " My dear
Francis — now, wheni Dr. Postle considers it most im-
portant ahe should be removed from the patient. She —

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THE HEALERS

Bhe agitates bim so, sa^s Bf. Postle. Do you think, poa-
sibly, you could mattage — an early day — ^next week!"

" To-morrow, if needs be," replied the colonel, looking
up from below, outwardly calm.

" Oh, certainly, if you prefer it so 1 " replied the baron-
eas. " We shall ezi)ect you, then, in the forenoon." She
ran back to the othera. The wicked spirit business, and
perhaps even more the curing of the professor, now it
was accomplished, filled her with not unreasonable wrath.
"My brother would wish you to leave for BruBsela to-
morrow," the said. "He finds that his military duties
will take up all his time next week."

" Thtff are terribly engrosaing ! " said Laura. " How he
must rtgret the ease of active service in the East I"

" To-morrow I " exclaimed Edward, when for a moment
that same evening they were alone.

" To-morroT night, at Brussels," repeated Laura.
" With a widow lady who takes paying guests ! "

" I should much like to ask you something, but I dare
not."

"Dare," she said softly.

"It is: you who seem to foreeee all sorts of things,
did you not foresee this? "

He was startled by the vehemence with which she
flashed round at him. "Do you take me for a fortune
teller! " she asked. " Do yon think I spend my nights
over the cards I" She dropped her voice to a whine:
"Croes your poor gypsy's hand with silver 1"

" But you knew about my father's illness," he persisted
gently.

"Knew! Kay, I did not know. I had a presentiment
of threatening disaster — no more t " She sat silent for
several moments, struggling with her thoughts. "There
ia a side to my life," she said, almost in a whisper, " which
— ^which — I cannot speak of it to anyone, least of all to
you:. Good night I "

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THE HEALERS

But immediately afterwards she once more stood be-
fore him, trembling, ae was her maimer when Btiongly
agitated, from head to foot. "Edward," Bhe said, "oh,
forgive me, but I cannot keep ailent I Who knows if ve
shall ever meet again? Ifo, I am not a fortune teller, bat
this one thing I can see — ^I can see it in your eyes, I have
read it there long ago, plain — you, who were bom to raise
those eyes to the li^t, you are turning them, from a
sense of filial duty, upon corruption, and you loathe, as
I should loathe, the sight! You have no desire to in-
vestigate the causes of diseases; you are utterly ignorant
of the joys of studying life! Oh, if I could but help
you I But what do I know of science) Kothing, I tell
you. I only know that these things exist." She turned
away, yet, over her shoulder, " Fromise me that you will
not destroy your whole future I Promise me that you will
examine these questions, will try to understand what the?
mean."

" I promise," he said.

" Promise me by something binding. Ah, no, I should
not have said thatt You are not an Oriental. Promise
me by nothing at all."

"I promise you," he said, "by my father's first sleep
that night."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

CHAPTER VI

Next moming Edvard'a ^es wera heavy with imacons-
tomed wakefulness. His mother gave hJTn a kindly
glance. " He studies too hard," thought the baroness.
"How he enjoyB his workl"

A telegram came from the colonel to say be would be
in the train on its arrival at Leyden Station, whither Ed-
ward must therefore accompany Miss Baleyne. "Please,
no girlal" said the telegram. Uncle Francis disliked
leave-takings around railway compartments, and "weep-
ing crowds."

When Edward came back from the station his mother
met bi"! in the hall. " So that is over," said the baroness.
"Thank God!"

Edward, not so grateful, looked uncomfortable and re-
mained silent.

"Your poor father, she excited him so, says Dr.
Portlel "

" She put him to sleep I " cried Edward.

" Edward, yon, a young stud^tt, will not pretend to
know better than a university doctor ! "

" She knows better than the whole lot of them I " cried
Edward.

The baroness smiled. "You had better stop studying
medicine," she said, " and go in for conjuring tricks."

Then she repented. " It Is pleasant to see how devot«d
you are to your dear father. I understand both you and
him perfectly. The Liases were alwi^ chivalrous to
women. But Dr. Postle says that is all nonsense and
fancy about putting him to sleep. How clever Dr. Postle
70

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THE HEALERS

is, Edward 1 He alwajf knew exactly what had happened
the day before."

" I have Bomething to tell you," said Edward.

" From your uncle t I dare Bay it is not worth hearing.
I am Teiy angry with yonr ancle for having brought the
girl here. She was not a fit companion for my daugh-
terH."

" Oh, mother, don't say any more 1 Don't I " Edward's
face had gone whit& "I want to tell you "

" It would be like Imphi-Boshek to go and many her,
only — thank Heaven 1 — he ia far too poor and too honor-
able to think of such a thing I "

" He von't marry her I " cried Edward, in an agony.

" I should Ihink not, indeed ; a little brown "

" For I've asked her to wait for me, and she's said she
wiUI"

There was a bench somewhere near, and the baronees
sat down on it.

"Shell have to wait a long tim^" she said. Then,
presently, " Did this take place between the house and the
railway station I" she asked.

" I love her," replied Edward.

" Well, well I " said the baroness. ** Your father mai-
ried his first love, and you will not. Your father was
the exception, Edward, and you are the rule."

" I shall never love anyone elee," declared Edward.

"That is very beautiful, Edward, but not in connec-
tion with Miss Laura Baleyne,"

Hereupon little Dr. Postle came slowly down the Btairs.

" I am very pleased with my illustrious patient to-day.
I find him much calmer," he said.

The baroness looked at Edward, and Edward laughed
rudely.

"Do yon think he could bear a shookt" asked the
baroness.

Edward turned to her in silent appeal.
71

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THE HEALEES

" What sort of a ehock I " said the doctor.

" The dieoovei? that his own — brother is a fool ! " re-
plied the infuriated yet still cautious baroness. Edward
gave a sigh of relief.

Little Jyi. Fostle grinned. "His son would be a dif-
ferent matter," he answered, " but he's safe there. I hear
great praise of you as s student, Jonker. Some day you
will equal your father, carry on his workl — Hereditary
genius, baronessl — Last night, at the Medical Society, the
professor was saying no specimens were as neatly done as
yours."

Edward listened, horroi^stnick. It had never occurred
to him as thinkable that these inevitable aida to his study
would attract anyone's attention, far less that they would
command praise. " Why, my sister did them I " he cried
instantly.

The baronesB beat a tattoo on the arm of her wooden
bench. " So that secret's out ! " said the baroness.

"I never knew it was a secret," replied the indignant
Edward.

" And Thomaaine," added his mother, when the doctor
had departed, " must find a husband after that as best she

" Thomosine says she likes it," protested Edward, fee-
ing guilty, his habitual attitude toward his parents.

" I thank Heaven," replied the baroness — and really,
considering the misfortunes which had befallen her that
morning, she was in a remarkably benedictory vein of
mind — "I thank Heaven that that, at least, is abso-
lutely untrue. Eliza has — I am unaware how — seen her
shrinking, and actually weeping, over the loathsome
work."

" She shall never touch a specimen again," said Edward,
in a shaky voice, and went into hia father's room. The
baroness followed him.

The invalid was sitting up in an armchair, with many
72

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

pillom, enJoTuig hia convalescence. " Dr. Postle has iust
been telling me sometliing, Edward, that has caused me
the liyelieet satisfactioD. It appeais they were rema r k in g
at the Medical Bodet; last nigbt "

"Yea, bat Thomasine did those," said Edward.

"And Edward intends to marry Laura," put in the
baroness, taking her stand behind the invalid's chair,
" and to set up a Hall of Magic, like the oUe we saw in
London — ^you remember — the Plymouth Brethren 1"

" The Davenport Brothers was the name," corrected the
profeasor aharply. " Let us, my dear, be accurate first,
and then aggravating. Pardon me. But what is this
nonsense about Laura I "

"I have asked her to wait till I can marry her," said
Edward doggedly. " We are both young, and she says
she wilL"

The professor solemnly extracted and swallowed one of
Jenkina's pills. Then he said, looking straight in front
of him: " Edward, I think you will admit that I am of
bU living bacteriologists "

" The greatest 1 " cried the baroness.

"By no means, Jane. Tou forget Faateur."

" And where, pray, would Pasteur's fame have been but
for you, Edward ) " cried the baroness, who now, being
very angry with her son, saw things differently.

Edward winced.

"Certainly not the greatest," continued the professor
quickly, "but, all things considered, perhaps the safest
authority as regards infection. Well, my boy, I can
honestly assure you that, at this early stage of the dis-
ease, it is quite as impossible for you, as for anyone, to
foresee whether it is going to be chronic or acute."

"Yours was chronic the first dayl" cried the unwise
baroness.

The baron smiled. " My dear, that, again, is feminine

logic. Son Edward, speaking as man to man and as medi-

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THE HEALERS

cos to medicus, I must warn yon that your diasnoBie is
premature."

" You laugh at me! " exchiimed Edwaid, in amazement.

"No, indeed I Do you think for a father this is a
laughing matter t"

" I shall never love any other girl I "

" That, Edward, is a symptom of the acnteet attack."

Edward stood away from hia parents, gazing at them —
the dear old father's thin gray face in its cloud of grizzly
hair, againat the pillows; the clear-eyed mother bending
over it, a little more crumpled, if possible, than usual.
" I have sacrificed my own inclinations in everything, till
now ! " he burst out. " Ton won't thwart me again, will
you, in this)"

"Sacrifice I Thwart him I" exclaimed the astonished
baroness. "What does the poor child mean}"

" I am a child no longer," answered Edward, " I am
a man, as willing, as when I was a child, to please you. I
love you as much as I ever loved you." He stopped,
biting his lips.

A slow flush spread over the professor's white cheeks;
he lay back, playing gently with the tassels of his faded
dressing gown. " Edward is right," he said softly. " I
am glad that he speaks of his — sacrifice. Tes, let us speak
of it. Had I died, Edward, I should have had a miserable
deathbed confession to make. I may as well make it
now. That great work of mine is ended. Pasteur has
given my discovery to the world."

" And how came Pasteur to be ready before you) " per-
sisted the baroness.

Her husband checked her, but Edward said low, "He
had no son that hindered him." In the silence that fol-
lowed, the professor's gaze sank to the roses upon his feet.

The baroness murmured, " Ah t " but at that sound the
profeesor looked up swiftly, with an attire change of
maimer and tone:

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THE HEALEES

"Abeurdl" he exclaimed; "Edward saved my life,
wheo, trusting to Longman, I.foollshlj', wickedlj' risked it.
Do you undeistand me, Jane t Do you hear me, son i You
saved my life, Edward! And, what's more, I now know
I still have both my lungs. Ko medical man could have
my pneumonia and not find out how many lungs he'd got.
I may live for thirty years more. Why not t What fools
these practicing doctors be! There's only one hope for
medical science, and that's bacteriology ! " For the first
time hie eyea sought the face of his son; he looked at
him sadly: "Believe me, I thought you had fully come
round to my way of thinking. Why, all your professors
praised you, and only this morning — " He stopped dead.
" But don't waste your time on the other medical f al-de-
lals," he said. "If there's anything this last illness
would have taught me — only I found it out thirty years
ago — it's that all our so-called therapeutics are bosh I"
Thereupon, the professor, his fingers shaking somewhat,
took another pill. "Boahl" he murmured. "And Pas-
teur's discovery the first step on the right road. Ah, what
a career ! If I were young 1 "

" Laura prophesied before your illness that you would
live to a great age I " said Edward.

" A Deborah 1 " remarked the baroness. " I really must
compose a poem in which Laura, as Deborah, controls the
courses of the stars."

" She certainly controlled my cough somehow, better
than Fostle," retorted the professor thoughtfully. " I do
not pretend as yet to understand fully about Laura. But,
Edward, if I live to a great age I shall make some mar-
velous discoveries, and I shall see you doing — something —
great — somewhere." He held out his hand; his son took
it reverently.

" And what, pray, is to be Edward's special vocation! "
interposed the baroness. "Is he to be a great thinker!
A great poet! Ah, I used to dream so! But bis infant
Q 75

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THE HEALERS

verses, on irMch all my hopes were built, where are they ?
They seemed to drop from him when we put him into
pants? Ton were thirteen, Edward, when for my birth-
day yon rhymed ' child ' and ' joined,' and I eaid, ' No I ' "

"So be it," aaid the professor testily, much oTer-
wrought. "We must acc^t the fact that our son is
himself. Tardily. Face right round, Edward; there's
plenty of other work waiting I The fault's mine." The
professor tightened his hands on the knobs of his old
armchair and closed his tired eyes. Humble as he was,
be could not but realize at that moment that he was act-
ing wdl and wisely.

"I can't," said Edward.

" Tea, you can. Don't make it harder for me than it is
already. You are young, as you say, and Laura can wait
— a couple of years." He opened his eyes aud saw the
hesitation in Edward's. He lifted himself, trembling, on
bis feet, clinging to the arms of the chair. " You believe,"
he cried in quivering tonee, " that I am acting thus to —
to put obstacles in your way — to keep back your marriage
with Laura I — Jane I Jane! our son believes this of me
— of me I"

Edward flung himself down on bis father's chair. " Ko!
not not" he exclaimed; "only I'm ttying to think how
to tell youl I vant to go on now I I've promised her,
and, besides, I want to. She's cast a new light on the
whole thing for me, father. I want to find out, not what
kills people but what gives them new life."

"I trust you understand what he means)" asked the
baroness, a pink spot in the middle of each cheek.

" I do," replied the professor, and laid one hand on bis
son's head. "You bad better go to Paris for a year,
then, Edward, and work imder Charcot. We know noth-
ing here as yet of these new influences in therapeutics, but
Laura bas at least proved to you and me, by a strange
chance, that they exist. I presume they are capable of
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scientific treatment. Charcot is your man. We can't
have a Dr. Lisse a quack, Edward. I admit that up till
now all therapeutics were quackei;. I would never have
bad you piactice as a physician, but still less can I have
you going about as a mesmerist. You must spare me
that!"

" But Charcot is as great a name, even, as Pasteur,"
pleaded Edward, catching at this proffered straw.

" I admit it," replied his father, almost in a whisper,
" but they are the two extremes of modem science. The
whole field of medical research lies between them. I
prefer our comer. You must go and look at the other
end, my son I "

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CHAPTER Vn

It was only last year that Vienna bestowed ita great
Gold Uedal of Merit on the famona Dutch psychologist,
Edward Liaae. The medal they award so rarely that
medical men all the world over have come to look upon
it as the highest recognition their genius can obtain.
Laura was present at the ceremony. The professor also
undertook the joum^; it killed him. He said that
psychiatry was still in its infancy, but, ao far, his son
Edward seemed a very good nurse.

Edward, however, was a long way oS from the Gold
Medal of Uerit when he departed, amid vrideapread dis-
approval, to undertake that course of study in Faria on
irtiich his father felt regretfully bound to insist. His
mother, being somewhat recovered from her first shock
of disappointed fury, kissed him quite as tenderly as ever,
but she requested him to sit down beside her, on the
morning of his departure, and read him a long passage
from " Balaam," which Set forth how the ass, having de-
teriorated in its old age as the prophet went on improv
ing, refuaed to follow its master's instructions and ran
down an incline and got killed. It may be seen from
this catastrophe to one of the principal characters that
the poem had reached its final canto. " I shall not long
survive my husband," said the baroness. Ever since she
had heard of Laura's prediction she persisted in declar-
ing that the professor would be nimibered with his
fathers " comparatively young," There were many known
forefathers in the family; the comparison would certainly
have exceeded the baroness's very limited mathematical
powers. Eliza, having heard the name " Paris," of
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course aaid her inevitable say about that city of sin.
Thomasine, after a first and last little dilute with her
mother about delay in the copying of " Balaam," Bat hem-
ming, occasionally red-eyed, a vast quantity of handker-
chiefs. The girls wrote from Geneva that there were such
ezceUent schools in Paris, and that Parisian French was
much purer than Swiss. Their mother intended to reply
judiciously, but forgot.

So Edward studied for a year under Charcot, and with
Bemheim at Nancy, all the latest developments of byp-
notism, suggestion, double personality, et cetera, according
to the awakening light of that day. He saw the strange
sights of the Salpetriere Hospital, psychic vagaries so
fantastic that they require actual experience for belief. At
that moment the Gascon peasant girl. Barbette, who conld
speak only patois in her natural condition, but answered
in her trance every foreigner that addreesed her, was the
wonder and vesation of the scientific world. Almost im-
mediately after Edward's arrival the famous doctor sent
for him to the hospital. To his dying day he will never
forget that morning — the cold gray light of a sunless
March, the straight lines of tall white building, the court-
yard and railings, the clank of keys; strange noisee every-
where, muffled and shrill, the incongruous noises of many
hundreds of female voices, all more or less crazy, amid
meaningless thumpings, foolish falls; then the long, bare
dormitory, deserted at that hour, and by the girl's bed,
with only one assistant in a respectful attitude behind
him, the great man.

Charcot was in the zenith of his fame and his achieve-
ment. The fine Napoleonic head, of which he grew to
be BO vaiD, proclaimed in its classical outlines and self-
conscious hut penetrating gaze the cahn force of this
masterful manipulator of weak minds.

" Ask her, in your own language, how she feels," he
said.

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Edward, bending over the cataleptic form on the white
bed, repeated the question in Dutch.

"Again," Aid the great man impatienti;.

Edward ob^ed.

The girl's bloodless face contracted; she gasped and
straggled for some minutes ; then over her lipa, in the
same language, one word came haltingly: " P-p-pain."

The professor, recognizing it by its likeness to German,
turned to his assistant. " You see 1 " he said. " We will
repeat this in the lecture room. Qood day, Kr. Lisse."

Edward followed the assistant in such manifest amaze-
ment that the young French doctor smiled. ** It is a
case," he said, "of hypnotic communication. Very re-
maf^cable, certainly, but you will see more remarkable
sighia here, if you remain." As, indeed, Edward did, ii]
the hospital wards and in the class rooms immortalized
by Gerrex's famous picture. But none of them could ap-
proach in intensity the revelation of this his first glimpse
into an intangible world. From the hospital itself he
wrote home to his father:

" Tell my mother that Laura's extravaganzas are scien-
tifically ascertainable facts I "

" If Edward read his BibH as I do," retorted the baron-
ess, "he would know that the Egyptian doctors could
change sticks into snakes. The Hebrew word is "

" Uind! " cried the professor, who had just semicoloned
a cat.

All tkal sort of scientific investigation — ^the serum tor-
ture — was now definitely over for Edward. He could
restrict himself to the experiments on the patients, which,
being mental gymnastics, vere often perhaps unpleasant,
or even injurious, but practically caused no pain. The
lobe-extracting, and all the paralytic pigeon business, he
cotdd surely take for granted. He grew daily more in-
terested in this wonderful study of the human mind
distraught, and therefore more grateful, and therefor*
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more devoted to Laora, who, in deliTering him from his
nightmare of £eah]y putrefoctioii, had ehowB him where
hie real vocation lay. Laura, therein a true woman, wrote
her exiled love all she could find to sound bright about
Brussels. She also entreated him to convert Charcot to
Bpiritism.

" Ab Boon convince an engineer," said Edward, " that a
breeze drives the train."

The great machinist of minds soon picked out the
promising jroung Dutchman. "Tour name," he said
once, in his rather pontifical manner, "is a vast lespon-
sibility, of which you seem to be aware. I must afford
you opportunities to distinguish yourself. Tou will avail
yourself of them." Edward bowed to the ground. Men
bowed low to Charcot, and he liked it. Kot many days
later he again addressed Edward: "I have an interest-
ing case," he said, "a rather unusual one, I should like
to place under your most careful observation. It ie a
yoimg English boy of position. I require a gentleman, a
man of the world, for these people, one who is it and
looks it." His cold gaze rested on Edward. "I shall
come out every Saturday. Illy secretary will give you the

That same afternoon Edward, in a new top-hat, in-
quired at the Etablissement Ducrot for the Villa dei
PeupUers. He had come out by the Ceintuie fiailway to
this unknown comer of Paris. Ducrot was, and doubt-
lees is, one of the largest and beat of the Auteuil Haisons
de 8ant6. The buildings stand in three acres of heavily
timbered grounds behind a gray stone walL A couple of
separate villas lie away from the central part, hidden
away among their own trees. To one of these a blue-
shaven, white-aproned French servant conducted Edward
along a neat pathway of flowering shrubs. Here and there
as they went, amid the ripe October foliage, shone the red
and white sqnaree of modem French masonry, the red
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and white atripee of correapondiiiK " Marquisee," tbe
glitter of a paraaol or a gayly colored hat. The whole
place wore an air of r^oseful luxury which contrasted
curiouely, in Edward's mind, with the crowded order of
the public hoBpitaL

At a locked aide gate, in a hedge, another manserrant,
manifestly an Engliahman, received him. " The new doc-
tor from Uushoo Paha-koh)" said the man. "I don't
think Bir James can see you at present. But Til ask Mr.
Qraye." Here therefore b^ns indirectly the story of
Thomasine.

" My name is Oraye," said the pleasant-faced young
Englishman, scrambling off the sofa. His hair and eyes
were dark against a clear Southern complexion, but his
build and get-up and general appearance were Saxon, and
of the best "I am not your patient," he added qniddy.
A shadow flitted over his face.

" I am ooly starting as a doctor, but I could have told
yon as much as that," replied Edward.

" Tou don't think I look crazy t "

"Ko," replied Edward, somewhat taken aback.

" So much the better. Tour patient is my nephew, poor
chap! Are you a Frenchman I Faidon me, but my
French is so beastly bad" (si betemeni mauvais was the
way he put it). "Dutch! Oh, then I am sure you un-
derstand English; the Dutch are such linguists!" (Its
Zollandaia aoni de ai bongs langoustea).

"i£y sisters had an English nurse," replied Edward;
and so the young men's conversations became lees arduous
to record.

"What a blessing! — for me, I mean. I had a French
nurse, but all the Fr^ich I could remember after she was
gone was CieU I said it a hundred times a day, so as
not to forget it, I suppose, but my mother somehow didn't
take to it." Edward laughed, and Kenneth Graye stopped
to look at him. " Look here, you are the new doctor, and

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no mistake!" said Graye. "All ri^t. I b% your par-
don, only you don't look a bit like the first one. Sir
Jamea didn't care for the first one. Poor chap, that don't
prove much, still — So, after the second visit, I had to
ask Professor Charcot for some one else. I hope hell be
nice about you; he ought to be. You — you won't mind
if he isn't, will yout You see, he's so — bo — quite— — "

" He is B patient, and I am a doctor," replied the fu-
ture Baron Lisse, with his head just a trifle thrown back.

" Quito so. Still, when a fellow's a decent sort of chap
himself, he likee to be treated decently. As a mle, how-
ever, I can rather trust my poor nephew to feel the differ-
ence. I'm sorry to say he flung a cup of hot milk over
the former doctor, so you see I had to prepare yon a bit ;
but really, honestly, it was rather the man's own fault.
He "

" Don't tell me," interrupted Edward. " If I am ca-
pable of producing such an effect as that, I had much
better not try to avoid it." The other gazed at him in
astonishment. "You will never be a mad doctor. Sir
Graye," said Edward. Again the shadow fell over the
Englishman's face. "No," he answered. "By the bye,
my name is simply Mr. Kenneth Graye."

The manservant appeared in an inner doorway. " Sir
James is quite ready, is he. Barton! Well, shall we go
in! " Kenneth paused, with his hand on the door handle.
"May I ask you to remember that although he cannot
speak he hears every word, and understands a great many.
We don't know exactly what op how much he under-
stands."

The inner room, to which the banal little French
drawing-room formed an antechamber, was heavily cur-
tained and almost entirely dark. It occupied, with two
vrindows on one aide and one on the other, a whole cor-
ner of the low, gray-walled, gray-shuttored villa, whose
line of six taU windows — one of them the front door —

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opened out on a long French perron. After all the clear
autumn brightneas and whitoneaa outside, this Uack cav-
ity, outlined by many etreake of sunshine against crerices,
struck chill with its impression of intentional gloom.
The lucent world seemed Tiolently shuttered out from the
horror within.

" This is my nephew," said Kenneth's voice, hushed, in
the shadows, " Sir Jamea Graye. James, this is the new
doctor, much nicer than the old one."

There was no sound in reply.

As his eyes got accustomed Edward saw what there
was to be seen. In an enormous armchair, behind which
the maneerrant stood watchful, lay huddled up a little
figure that might have belonged to a boy of ten. In
reality, however. Sir James Oraye was several years older.
Shape he had none to speak of, being a shrunken mass
of unformed limbs, like a bag with some dead beast in it ;
only his head emerged, sank on one side, expressionless,
long drawn, as a fox terrier's, without the dog's intelli-
gent eye.

" Say something to the doctor, James," prompted his
uncle. " He has come a long way to see you."

This time a grunt issued somewhere from the bundle.
Edward recognized in it the tone of dissatisfaction. " If
you like," he said, "I will come again some other day."
Vo reply. " But perhaps I can first do something to make
you more comfortable," continued Edward, "You are
very uncomfortable, aren't you I "

The same grunt, twice as loud as before.

"If you please, Mr. Qraye," put in the servant, "I
can see ae Sir James feels cold, but when I light the wood
fire he cries out, sir. I suppose he don't like the flicker
of the flames."

Kenneth motioned the man aside. "How often must
I tell yon," he said sharply, "not to speak about Sir
James in bis presence? It always puts him ont."

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THE HEALERS

"It'fl almoet impoasible to avoid it, sir," muttered the
man, patiently creeping back to his place.

Edward bad atood looking down, with unquenchable
pit;, on the bundle of wretchedness before him. " If I
bring jou a nice little stove from Paris," be said, "you
can make the Toom as waim aa you like and yet keep it
quite dark."

After a pause another grunt broke the silence, a grunt
of satisfaction this time. Both the servant and Eenueth
almost simultaneously gave a gasp of relief. Aft«r that
not much more was attainable. The three men stood for
some minutea quite still around the inert maaa in the
comer of the big chair. Once more it utt«red its dull
note of discontent. Then Krametb Graye led Edward out

" Well, now you have seen him," said Oraye, as soon as
they were alone together. " And so now you know."

The light was all around them. The foliage swung
golden against the veranda outside.

" It is not an imuaual case," replied Edward.

"It is our case," said Kenneth Oraye.

There was a moment's silence, then Kenneth resumed:

" He has three notes, only. Ton heard two. You were
fortunate. We rarely hear the second, excepting when he
likes hia meals. The third is one of fear."

" Does be always ait in the daric f " asked Edward.

" Yes, always. As soon as we take him out he closes
hie eyes. Things seem to frighten him."

"Has it ever occurred to you that the light might
possibly hurt bis brain?"

"His — I beg your pardon," the young Englishman
recovered himself, the dark che^s suffused with sudden
confusion. "His eyes have often been examined and
pronounced all right."

Edward did not point out that he had not spoken of
the eyes.

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" I may as well tell you," continued Qiaiye, " that wa
have conBulted any number of doctors all over Europe^
We have been doing hardly anything elae since his birth."

" Was it neceesaiy to consult so many? "

"You mean that he is hopelessly incurable!"

" I have no right to say that."

Kenneth Qraye took a cigar from the mantelpiece — a
French mantelpiece, with a window otct it and ormolu
ornaments against the glass. " I will tell yon about it,
if you have leisure," be said. "I think we may fed
pretty safe that he will like you now." And, after he had
settled himself and his visitor in unsuitable gilt bergeret
beeide the cheerful wood fire: "My nephew is a posthu-
mons child. He ia nearly sixteen years old. You would
never have thought that. Well, I EiuppoBe you have seen
similar cases. My brother died a couple of months before
his birth. He was a good deal older than L"

"Yesi" said Edward, politely interrogatlTe, puffing at
his cigar.

* Mj sister-in-law had been quite crushed by her hus-
band's death — stupefied, so to speak. Her child was bom
prematurely after weeks of anxiety, during which she did
not seem to car& When she discovered what sort of a
child it was, a great remorse seemed to seize hei^^oor
thing I as if she had been to blame— and she devoted the
rest of her life to him, day and night. She had an idea
that dootoTS wonld cure hun — ^poor thing I " He stopped,
stared into the fire, smoking.

" She is dead, I preeome? " questioned Edward.

" Yes, she died three years ago."

Edward hesitated. Then, " But if yon aie so certain
that docton can do nothing "

" I did not eay anything of the kind," intemqrted Ken-
neth.

"Forgive me if I read your thoughts wrong."

"No, yon read them right enough; you are evidently

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accustomed to looking people through, though you can't
be much oldei than I am. I'll tell you the rest. She
made me promise, on her deathbed, to look after James,
and to go on consulting dooton till I got him better —
somewhat better, at an; rate. I don't aoppose she thought
we'd ever get him like you and me. Tet, I don't know."
Again he waited; the words seemed to come from him
as if drawn forth against his will. ''She was a very
religious woman. She said God had given him his soul.
I can't tell you about it, but — but, yes, she thought be
would be a great deal better — more conscious — ^before he
died." He looked anxiously askance at Edward, waiting
for that horrible ezpression, the sort of hidden contemp-
tuousnesB which comes so frequently, when religion
is mentioned, into the amilelesa eyes of the medical
man.

" Thanks," he said suddenly. " I mean, Tm glad you
take it like that. You see, he is quite unconscious. Or
rather, I should say, we can't get at Mm; we can't find
out what he thinks ; what he knows and what he doesn't.
Isn't it awful? He hears us, of course, but we can't half
say when he understands and when he doesn't. Usually, I
fancy, he doesn't. He can only make one of those three
noises in reply, and most times he doesn't do that. I
trust I needn't tell you about his habits I — they are those
of idiots."

" I know," said Edward, very quickly. " TTia food in-
terests him, I suppose."

"Yes, his food interests him, and heat and cold, and
he wants to sit in the dark. I think that is about all.
Oh, and I fear I must add, he likes the doctor to come —
daily."

Edwanf B face changed. " That is the most remarkable
fact you have told me, as yetl "

"Why!"

" You are sure he wants the doctor — as doctor! "
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" Oh, j'es; he von't see etrangeis — screams; but be cries
if the doctor hasn't been. It's — it's even very trying for
the doctor."

" Then why, if I may ask, do not yon, who are doubt-
less rich, have a doctor living with him I"

" Because, if we do, he won't see him after a time. I
fancy he then confuses him — eicose me — with a strange
servant."

Edward sat thinking.

"Why do you consider that so important)" asked
Kenneth, watching his face.

"I am hardly able yet to discuss the case," replied
Edward.

"Yes, you are. Look here, Vyb been discussing a lot
of it. Yon must make allowances for me. I've got it
on the brain, rather. We've been to all sorts of places
and — well, now, here we are with Charcot. He's a big
man, isn't he, Charcot t "

" The biggeet living," answered Edward fervently, " for
this sort of thing."

"But it's — it's — I don't want to complain, but you
oan understand what it means being boxed up here in this
Maiaon de Sant£ all day. And here yon are, after the
last man, speaking English, and — and — Well, you're a
godsend! The word's out, and you'll forgive a man
who — I say, why does it matter so much that James
cares to see the doctor t "

" If it means anything, don't you think it might mean
that he — wants to get well ! "

"By Jovel" cried Kenneth. "Poor chappie! Oh, I
don't think that's possible! Do you think be could pos-
sibly have sense enough for that! Poor chappie!"

"I don't know. Z can't say at all. He must feel con-
scious of being different from others."

" That is a Buhject we have, of course, always avoided.
When we ask bim if he is happy or unhappy, his replies

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THE HEALERS

are inyariabl; dependent on some creature comfort or
discomfort of the hour."

"You have never noticed any indication of a mental
moodi"

" Never."

" Kor his mottier) "

" Kor his mother. She always tried to make him un-
derstand about religioD — Qod, you know. I cannot tell
you how much she tried."

Edward laid down the remnant of his cigar. "There
is no hereditai7 taint t Tou know we always ask that
qoestion nowf "

The other started. His answer came very slowly.
* Tea, you always ask that question now. Why? Hered-
ity can't help James."

"It is for our sakes, the sake of science. You aee, we
are begimiing to grope after great tmthe, we doctors. It
was about time we began. Was the taint on the motber'a
sidet"

"I did not say there was any at alL" The young
Englishman's voice shook.

"No; I was only wondering if it had been on the
mother's side!" The question seemed to hang in the
air awaiting reply.

" I cannot tell you." Kenneth Graye got np. "I have
hessi keq>iiig you too long. Thanks for coming. Good
nig^t."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

CHAPTER Vm

"This latest case you describe to me, m; dear boy,"
writes the profeesor, "I miiBt honestly confess does not
attract me very much. I hare never been able to take
an interest in those abnormal conditions which are merely
the result of anatomical defects. AH disease finds its
source either in misconstruction or in microbic infection.
If I live as long aa Laura has promised me I am con-
fident I shall see this novel truth recognized by the whole
world. For me there exiEts no doubt that a microbe of
madnees will be discovered in the not very distant future
— may you be its disooTerer I — but idiocy is simply bad
building, and it seems to me there remains no more to be
said."

To this letter the baroness added a postscript, admon-
ishing Edward to be sure and tell her whether the idiot's
head went up at the back in a peak. The postscript
caused Edward to shout with laughter in hia little Paris
bedroom, for TJncle Frank's bald cranium arose at once
before his mental view.

But his father's verdict depressed him greatly, for it
coincided too painfully with his own. He could do noth-
ing for James Graye. Every afternoon, unwillingly, he
now took the train ont to Anteuil, and by doing so
earned, presumably, twenty-five franca. It was the first
money he bad ever earned, and the thon^t of it made
him flush up, at night, in bed, as if he were a swindler.
Only, swindlers don't blush. When he definitely resolved
to stick to his father's profession, he had abo decided to
follow it in his father's way. Scientific research was to
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be his object only. " I nowise object," said the ptofessor,
drawing a deep breath with both his Innga, " to the
monef-makins of a Fostle or a Longman; their trade is
as Btrictly honorable as any other man'a; but it is not
the life work of a Baron Llsse." Edward, hot and cold,
had at last rentuted to t«ll his chief that he felt he was
doing nothing for the patient. "When you are as old
as I am," replied the illustrious doctor, smiling, "yon
will wait till the patient discovers that."

Kenneth implored him not to discontinue hia visitB.

" Qood HeaTens I " he cried, " can't yon consider me ) I
hadn't a soul to speak to till you came along. I'm
locked up here with — with James — " He broke oS.
" Tee, Fve been to the Embassy, and I know one or two
people slightly, but I don't care, as a matter of fact, to
leave Jamee so long alone, and I can't ask anyone 'here !
The only one that comes is Ifiss MacClachlin."

"Misa "

" MacCIachlin, She's Scotch, you know, like us.
We're Scotch. Miss MaoClachlin'a an enonnoualy rich
old Bpineter, with a beautiful place in Aberdeenshire,
which she's left to come and work among the butcher
boys at La Yillette. Kindness to animals is her especial
fad. She's got a Guild of Mercy at the abattoirs. She
don't know any French, but she does a lot of good. Fact
is, she's overworked herself among her butchers, and so
she's come out here to Auteuil for a few douches. You're
bound to meet her in this room some day."

As Edward did, shortly after. Miss MacCIachlin could
only have been called " old " by unthinkingly cruel young
bachelordom. She was probably little over thirty-five, but
then Kenneth was under thirty. " My dear young friend,"
she had called him at first, and in so far she herself
was to blame for his estimate. More recently she had
dropped the " young."

She was stout, brisk, and pleasant looking, with cheer-
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fal bUck eyea that said " I want to help aomebody," and
a double chin tbat said " I can."

"I am worn out with getting up my eheep feast," she
was saying to Eenneth, "my Fate dt Moo-tongsl" Both
young men ezpreesed courteous interest.

" Oh, I can't tell you all about it I And, besides, of
course you wouldn't really care. But it's my league,
you know" — she nodded to Edward. "I call them the
Chevaliers de Betail, instead of Bataille; it's pronounced
Just the same, and the French are so chivaliouB; they like
thatl Our motto is, ' Misericorde aux Moutons,' 'Mercy
to the lluttons,' yoD know," she laughed. " But, oh, you
can't think how crnel they are to the poor dumb beastieal
Well, not exactly dumb. I wish they were 1 " She stopped
abruptly and turned her quick eyes on Edward. "Have
you evei gone into the question of the SiE^mund maskt "

" I fear not," said Edward.

She flung up her eyebrows. " There's a lot for you to
learn yet, I can see. I wonder if you ever knew — " She
faced round to Kenneth. " Do you know, my dear friend,
that OUE Congress on International Cattle Transport is to
dome off in this city next month! "

" Don't ask me," answered Kenneth.

She now threw up her hands. " I^othing astonishes me
BO much as to realize constantly in what separate circles
we all trot our little day I Mine, at least, is a wide one,
I am glad to say."

" And mine is a very narrow one," said Kenneth.

His tone made her veer round hastily to Edward and
begin speaking faster than ever:

" Yon must let me send you a few numbers of our paper.
The Cry of the Cow. I dare say you think it sounds
silly, but we are doing a good woik. I can assure you it
is a good work. In our parliament — and, really, this
must be said for our nation that we are foremost in phil-
anthropic effort abroad — a question is to be asked next

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week about tlie freezing of live sheep from Australia. It
appears that, en route, aome of the sheep came unfrozen,
and — " She shuddered. "But, I forgot; you are a doc-
tor, and a foreign doctor. Forgive my speaking plain!;,
but how can I ask pity for animals from a man who
approves of, who practices vivisection I " She repeated in
genuine horror, " who practices vivisection," and she tried
to draw back her akirt, unnoticed, from contact with
Edward's boot.

" Oh, come now t " put in Kenneth, " Fm aure he don't
like more vivisection than he can help."

" What do you mean by that, my dear friend t If you
had studied the aubject at all, you would know that vivi-
section is not a help of any kind, but a positive hindrance
to research. That has been demonstrated a hundred times.
I was reading, only the other day, in the Anli-Viviseciion-
Ul, a most awfnl account — oh, too dreadful I — of horrible
experiments, by some fearful Dutch profe8sor,to determine
the influence of the water drunk by cows on their milk."

Edward gazed at the ceiling.

"But that's very important, surely," said Kenneth.

" Of course it is," replied the lady sarcastically. " That's
how all you men speak when you don't take !n the Anti-
TivisectionUt. Unfortunately, we don't drink tlie milk
of the vivisected rabbits, as a rule. I suppose the pro-
fessor does."

Edward stared at the ceiling.

" That accounts for his brains, the idiot 1 "

" Do you know about his experiments ! " asked Kenneth
of Edward.

" The world-renowned idiot," persisted Miss MacClach-
lin.

"You are speaking of my father," said Edward. He
had turned rather green, but he had been telling himself
for the last minute that a woman cannot insult a man in
matters of this kind.

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THE HEALERS

" I am aoi^," said Mlsa iUacClachlin prompt!;, " that I
was speaking of your fatlier. I cannot say I am sony I
spoke. When I used that word I used it theoretically,
seeing the gentleman is unknown to me."

" Yea," said Edward, " a practical idiot is a very dif-
ferent thing from my father."

"Good Lord I" said Kenneth Graye.

" Yon most forgive m& I have a warm heart, and I
see a lot of tortnre, and — No, I cannot say a good word
for vivisection."

"I wish to God it were not necessary," answered Ed-
ward with fervor. " My father is one of the gentlest and
kindest and humblest of men."

"And a great noble in his own country, according to
the newspaper," remarked Kiss MacClachlin, in eager
search of something pleasant to say. "I remember it
struck me as so odd, and the editor also, that a great
noble should vivisectionize rabbits. I forget his title."

Edward nearly laughed. "My father's name is Baron
Lisse."

" Hereditary, I presume ! " said Miss MacClachlin.

Edward kept back his laughter no longer. " I'm afraid
we look upon these matters from a very different point of
view. In my country we never reward intellect with a
title of nobility. It seems so incongruous."

" We do," said incisive Miss MacClachlin, " but we like
the hereditary ones best." She took out her watch and
whisked round again to Kenneth. "And how is Sir
Jamee."

"Yon promised, last week, not to ask me that question
again," replied Graye. " There's nothing to tell about
James."

" I promised, and, like the sensible woman I am, I break

my promise. I have reflected a great deal on the subject,

and I now feel sure you are Quite wrong in your treatment

of your poor nephew. I am glad to be able to say so in

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tbe presence of his doctor. Yes, yee, m; dear Mr. Qruje,
you must not mind my speaking oat. What Sir James
needs — what every sentient creature needs — is an interest ;
a human interest; human sympathy with something. It
isn't in bini, you say! It's in every living creature. As
a child, I had a toad "

At this moment a tall female figure appeared on the
perron in front of the closed French window. It was
lean and bony under its flaring garments, and its long
swarthy countenance sported a mustache. In its arms it
hugged, awkwardly battling against its bosom, a sprawl-
ing, kicking, very nearly victorious lamb. Uiss Ifac-
Olachlin motioned it eagerly awi^, but the figure fell
forward, lamb and all, in a loud thump against the case-
ment.

" It's my maid," said the Scotch lady coolly to Edward.
" She's never punctual except when I shouldn't mind her
being late. I timed her exactly to follow me in ten
minutes, but I lost five talking to you. Uy life, as Hi.
Oraye knows, is a railway time-table, and I fine myself,
like they do the engine drivere, if I am two minutes late.
I recommend the system to you; it lengthens your life
out wonderfully."

"It must make you feel like a live Bradshaw," said

" Order, my dear friend, is Heaven's first law." An-
other fall against the window.

" Or like Clapham Junction with the signalman gone
mad," continued Kenneth, lifting the latch and letting in,
with a certain precipitation, tbe maid and the lamb. The
former Immediately dropped the latter, and Kenneth
flung-to the window with a precipitancy greater atilL

" You are a full minute too early, Hortens^" said Miss
MacCIachlin; "but never mind."

"The dear lamb — it has eaten all my ribbons," replied

the maid; and, indeed, a white and pink ruche she

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vore, rer; showr, presented a piteonel; bedra(%led ap-
pearance.

"I will give yoo new ones, and — nicer," (The maid
pulled a face.) " Could jou cateh it, Mr. Qnje^ I have
brought it for poor dear Sir Jamee. So; now listen to
me — listen now, doctor; it ia such a toncliing story." The
lamb was located on the heaTth rug, where £enneth held
it down; it wore a white and blue saah round its neck,
whereon glittered golden the letten " M. M." It looked
nervous. — " A couple of weeks ago 1 told my butcher boys
at La Villette about your nephew, and how rich he was,
and how loneaome, and how sad — tout soul, eh, Hortense!
— and none of them laughed, though Hortense says I told
them poor Sir James was always drunk. And yesterday
three of the very nicest — there are nearly two hundred,
and there ought to be ten tintee as many — brought me
this little Iamb, that they'd spent their own sous on buy-
ing for the pover milor anglaU qui eat loujours — aoul.-
There, I said it right this time, did I not, Hortense) "

" Out, mademoiselle," said the maid, with a sneer in
her eyes.

"And I told them I would bring it myself. Yon see
the 'M. M.' on the sash, doctor; it doesn't mean Maria
MacCIachlin; it's the badge of our league. And now,
Mr. Oraye, you must let roe present the little dear to Sir
Jamee myself, so that I may tell my bushaps all about
it. Ton will see what a wonderful effect It'll have on him
— probably — the having something to love."

" Impossible 1 " cried Kenneth, from the floor. He held
the animal firmly, but his voice shook with excitement.
"Doctor, do please explain to this lady how absolutely
impossible it is that she should see Sir James Oraye."

"Doctor, he is surely mistaken! He must be mis-
taken ! " Miss MacClaohlin appealed to Edward. " Hu-
man sympathy — " The Iamb squeaked, under Kenneth's
pressure. He loosened his hold suddenly, with the com-

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punction of a kind-hearted man, loat his balance, half-
kneeling on the hearth rug, caught at the escaping
quadruped, and banged, vith it in his anns, against the
door to the inner chamber, aa Edward stood explaining to
Ifiae IfacOlachlin that, really, her request was ungrant-
able.

"And what am I to eaj to my gartongs\" demanded
the lad; indignantly.

The man Barton had opened the door.

"Did you knock, Mr. Grayef" be asked.

The lamb leaped, for escape, between bis l^s, almost
tumbling him over, and disappeared into the darkness

The yells that arose in the anseen dktauce were so ap-
palling that th^ struck terror to even Mise KacOlachlin's
sturdy aouL The idiot's cries were not like those of a
human being; they resembled more the shriek of animals
in distress, of horses, for instance, caught in a fire. His
uncle and the doctor now simultaneously rushed to his
assistance. The maid backed to the closed window with
" J hut ! Maria I " The light flooding in through the still
open door showed the two indistinct figures in the back-
gionnd; the vague mass of the frightened animal, a dull
gray against the curtains, shaking and leaping, the other
terrible shape in a comer, immovable, undistinguiahable,
screaming its inhuman note. The entrance of its pur-
suers sent the trembling beast oS wildly toward the cor-
ner. The idiot, who could use his arms with less difiSculty
than his legs, flung, shrieking yet more shrilly as it came
toward him, a cushion, which brought it to its knees. It
tried to rise, caught its legs in the ribbons, fell heavily,
and rose with a f ore leg hanging broken.

"Yes, the joint is broken," said Edward, with the

throbbing little beast on his lap. " We had better show

Sir James," he added, "what it was that frightened him;

for, in spite of all his uncle's soothing, the idiot con-

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ti&ued to Ecream. The doctor had already obtained a
certain influence over the lad. He ordered the curtains
to be drawn aside for the nonce.

" It ia a lamb — look I " he said. " Ita 1% is broken. It
can't walk well — like you."

Sir James stopped screaming, and b^an to C17.

" Should you like me to try and mend its legi "

The boy gave hia aatisfied grunt.

Kenneth Graye began aaeuring Misa MacClachlin that
numberless attempts had already been made to interest
hie nephew in pets.

" The result has invariably been the same," he said ; " he
won't have them near him at any price. He cries till we
take them away."

" Perhaps you should have persevered," said Miss Mac-
Clachlin, but she added contritely, " I think I could help
Dr. Liase about the aplinta." And indeed she did, deftly.

When she took her leave the lamb, beautifully band-
aged, was slumbering on Sir James's big chair. He had
managed to explain that he wanted it. 2To one, as yet,
imderstood why.

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CHAPTER IX

" Aha t " said Miss KacClachlm, promenading about her
chamber in tlie main pavilion of the " Etablisaement
Bncrot," " aha I and aha ! and aha 1 80 be sita aU day
with the lamb in his lap, does he I We shall see who is
right, Hortense — ^we shall see I "

"Mademoiselle has always right," said the waiting

Miss MacClachlin checked her walk and eyed her maid.
The Scotch lady was a person of commanding and sub-
stantial presence, distinguished looking and ever admir-
ably appareled, " I come to Paris," she used to say, " for
two things I can never get at home, clothes and con-
verts. At home everyone is pious and ill dreesed." Now
she looked at her flaunting tire-woman, the lean, long
figure, all black frizzle and red furbelow, and the tire-
woman quailed beneath her glance. For the glance spake,
"You would mock me," and the woman's eyes unwill-
ingly confessed, " I cry grace."

Aloud Miss MacClachlin remaned, " In English we say
' is right' When I engaged you at the Bureau de Place-
ment, Hortense, you were warranted to speak English like
a native."

"A native; it is English for an oyster," replied Hor>
tense demurely, " and to speak like an oyster, in French,
it means to speak like a fool."

Miss MacCIachlin laughed grimly. " Tou are far from
a fool," she said; " that ia what I esteem in you. 80 you
needn't always make the same mistakes over and over
flfcain."

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The maid dropped her eyea to the floor, " To moke the
same miHtakes," she said, " is so much easier than to
make new ones. Kistakee are like einB. Mademoieelle
also will commit the same — mistakes, I mean, of course."

" You are quite unreasonable 1 " cried Mias MacClachlin
angrily. " When the bureau replied to my advertisement,
they knew I had expressly asked for a female who could
speak both languages fluently. These were my very
words: 'A respectable French female, acquainted with
colloquial English and the argot and habits of the Paris
slums.' "

"Mademoiselle d^nanded a good deal," said Hortense.
" It is all obtainable — but the ' respectable ' ; there was the
aceroc. Howevfer, mademoiselle got even her; even the
' habits o£ the slums ' did mademoiselle get. These I know
— from my poor sister, who did mal toumer." Hortense
produced a pocket handkerchief, and, behind it, winked
her eye.

Miss MacClachlin felt the wink. She felt it all along,
all day; and, as an entirely new experience of maid-
servants, or of women, it was a terrible trial to her.
Ifobody winked near Miss MacClachlin at Bowangowan
'HalL

" As yon allude to the subject, let us speak of it, once
for all," she said nervously — and, really, no other subject
could have made Miss MacClachlin nervous. " You were
to know about my butcher boys, so you could translate be-
tween me and them; you were very expensive on that
account. ' But,' I said, ' under no circumstances may she
flirt with them.' ' That will be ten francs extra, then,'
said the madame of the bureau. I agreed to the ten

" Surely I have kept to my part of the engagement,"
cried the maid, offended.

" I am by no means certain about the ten francs," said
Miss MacClachlin.

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" Twice a. week I translate for mademoiseUe at the
preachings."

" They are not preachings— lectures, Hortense."

"Lectures!" repeated Hortense, translating into her
own language. " Would they were. MademoiseUe is of
a fluency in her colloquials. Often my braia reels, as I
seek for the argot I Only last night, when mademoiBelle
exclaimed, ' Marry, come up 1 ' — how was I, a poor
Erenchwoman, to know that it did not mean, ' Venes
m'epouserl ' "

"It was part of e quotation. Tou might have

'' But there is no cause to feel annoyed 1 Mademoiselle
obtained what we call a succes foul AH the three hun-
dred of her audience, like a man, they cried back, ' Volon-
tiersl'"

"Hortense," said Miss MacOlachlin, turning in deeper-
ation, " I believe you are simply canaille I "

"Ah, mademoiselle I Mademoiselle has no idea of the
French words she uses. It is good she has a wise one
to control her slang. Mademoiselle would say I am faith-
ful as a dog." The woman's face expr^sed no feeling, for
the berth was an incredibly good one, and she intended
to stick to it.

"I don't believe you're respectable a bit," Miss Mac-
Clachlin sat down, square, in her handsome tea gown, her
cheeks a faint pink.

" Did a French mistress so speak toward the end of the
month," replied Hortense, with sudden asperity, " I should
aay it was done to deprive me of my extra. But the
English, I know, are not like that; they are not re-
gardant."

"How often must I tell you I am Scotch!"

" The distinction, mademoiselle, whatever it may mean,
does not cross the Channel. It is, I doubt not, to the
advantage of the Scots."

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Miss KacClacblin smiled, despite herself, and feeling
her hopeless dependence on this red-ribboned, black-souled
creature for her charitable work at La Villette, she pro-
ceeded to pa? in full the month's wages, and even added
a golden napoleon, because Hortense was teaching a brute
of a shock-headed young butcher to read.

As the maid gathered up her money, furtively clicking
the gold pieces on the table to make sure they were
genuine, Edward Lisse was announced. "You sent for
me, mademoiselle t " he began.

" Yes, I ventured to do so. We have a friend in com-
mon in this great city; that must be my excuse."

" She is charming," thought Edward. After all, a man
always thinks a woman charming when she is kindly and
pleasant looking and well dressed.

" I mean Mr. Qraye," she continued. " Of course you
like himf Everybody must."

"I wish Sir James did," said Edward. "But, as far
as we can make out, he cares for nobody."

"Except you."

" That is one of those sudden imbecile fancies which
don't count. He seems to have got some sort of idea into
his head that I shall do him good. But it is almost im-
possible to know what he thinks."

Miss MacClachlin shuddered. "Don't let's talk about
Sir James," she said. " My nerves are the best, in Scot-
land — ^wbich is saying a good deal — but I shall never
forget those yells! However, it is nonsense my saying
this" — she braced herself — ^"for Sir James is what I
asked you to come and talk about, unless professional eti-
quette forbids."

" That depends," said Edward. He cast a glance
round the room; prominent, on a stand, was a photo-
graph of a great bouse among woods, against a river

Quick Miss MacClachlin followed the glance, " This is

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my little holiday," she said, " with Dr. Dncrot. I beliere
in Yda douches. To-morrow I go back to BeIIeTill& Ton
must como and see me there Bome day among my bntchera.
But now, as for this professional etiquette, you must for-
give me if I sin against it. It is a mystery of the priest-
hood, a code all to itself. No outside mortals can fathom
it"

" Tm afraid Tve uever learned it, then," said Edward.

She laughed ; then, suddenly grave : " I ought to know
about it," she said, "for it killed my nearest relation."
Edward looked polite inquiry. " I lived with an old atmt,
yonder," she nodded her head in the directioo of the
photograph. " She was seized with a hemorrhage, and we
sent telegrams for a professor both to £dinbuq(h and to
Aberdeen. Two arrived by the same train, but one of
them treats hemorrhage with cold water and the other
foments, so they couldn't both undertake the case. The
question of profeesional etiquette was, which had been
called in first, the Edinburgh man who had first got
his telegram, or the Aberdeen man to whom the first
telegram had been sent. While they were bowing to
each other over it in the drawing-room, my aunt bled to
death."

Edward expressed proper sympathy,

"I was deeply thankful to be assured afterwards," said
Uiss MacGlachlin, " that the cold-water man would have
had the first claim."

" Why, may I ask? "

"Uy aunt was of the old schooL She had a rooted
aversion to cold water." This communication was fol'
lowed l^ a pause of solemn reflection. Then the lady
resumed: "I am veiy anxious to know whether you
think that poor idiot will ever recover the use of his
reasont"

"Tou put me the very question I am unable to an*

Bwer," replied Edward, in a suddenly agitated voice. His

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tone caused Kiss ]l£acGlacIilin also to lose control over
hetself.

" What 1 " she exclaimed. " Do you mean to say that
that — that "

"I am Btudyii^ Sir James Graye. I imagine — I am
beginning to think — Miss KacClachlin, you must give
me leave to say no more."

" Incredible I " eaid Miss MacClachlin, drawing a dee^
breath. " I have one other question to which yon will
hardly object. Independently of hia mraital condition, is
there anything in his constitution which would — preclude
his living to be an old man t "

" In hie physical constitution, no."

" No t " She turned to him excitedly. " I had thought
all such idiots as that were — ^were constitutionally de-
fective and died young ! "

"Tou were mistaken." A wonder crossed Edward's
mind whether Maria MacClachlin had hoped to man?
" Sir Kenneth," for he had found out about these British
rules of inheritance now.

" Ifercif ul God I " said Miss MacClachlin under her
breath; "poor Kenneth Graye 1 Tou will tell me next,"
she added presently, " that this thing will marry and get
children."

"Even that is not unthiukable," replied Edward bit-
terly, "in an age of shameless adoration of the dollarl"
He checked himself. " I know only one rule of profes-
sional etiquette," be said, "but that is discretion." He
rose to depart.

Miss MacClachlin rose also.

"You have done me a very great service," she said.
" You have given me exactly the information I required.
One word more. You have never noticed anything pe-
culiar about Mr, Grayel"

"Peculiar! No, What do you mean ? "

" You have seen a great deal of him lately, and under
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these trying circumatancee. He has never Btmck 70U bb
in any way abnormal t"

"Abnormal! No, of course not. No, indeed. Except
that be is an abnormally nice man."

" I thoroughly agree with you," said Maria MacOlach-
lin heartily.

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CMAPTEK X

"I HAVE brougbt the ChriBtmas parcel for mademoi-
eelle," said HorteuBe.

]!£iBB UacCIachlin, who had sat in a reverie aince Ed-
ward's departure, turned a far-away look toward the
corded box.

" It IB from Scotland," added HortenBC.

" From homel " cried Maria MacCIachlin.

"Ah I that is the note I heard in mademoiselle's voice
when the butcher boy asked whether she would much lore
him to become a Protestant."

" But ;oa know that I asked you to tell him that I
would still much rather have him not tie the calves' legs
so tight. I wonder who could send me anything from
home."

"At the douane they nearly stopped It, for it appears
that it is forbidden. AlmoBt everything, as mademolBelle
knows, is forbidden at the douane. It la terrible there.
So foreifnera should send parcels to Fane." Meanwhile
the maid was busy unfastening the box, while her mistress
watched with irresistible curiosity.

"I said that mademoiselle was connected with the £ni-
baBsy," remarked the maid.

"Hortenae!"

"Not that they believed me I" She lifted out, from
many wrappings, a dirty, diacolored linen bag, and, un-
tying It, disclosed an enormous black balL

" They said it was a bomb," announced Hortense, stand-
ing away from it.

"A plum pudding I" cried Miss MacCIachlin, her eyes
moistening. " A plum pudding from home I "
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" Tliey wanted to cut it open," continued Hoil^nse,
" but the brigadier vea afraid of breaking his eword.
They passed it at last aa materiel de conatruetion — how
say you in English! — building material." Hortense pos-
seseed a positive geniuB for the enjoyment of freshly
made llee. In fact. It was hei great life happinees. It
posseBaed her, to speak more conectly, like dram drink-
ing.

" Namiie must have made it," said Maria MacCIachlin,
still in the some thrilled voice — "my old nurse; and sent
it over here, juat in time for Christmas eve, from Rowan-
gowan."

"And mademoiBelle's butcher boys, that have their en-
tertainmeat to-morrow, they can eat it — ihey vill not
die!"

"No; no foreigner shall touch that pudding I" Miss
HacClachlin stretched out her hand as if to protect it.
" Not even you, Hortense 1 "

"I thank Heaven, I love life," replied the maid; "yet
preeumably, if mademoiselle eat it all herself, it will first
need cooking — a little less hard?"

"It ia boiled; it only wants warming," said Miss
MacOlachlin humbly. " Poor old Nannie ! Dear thing I "

"I will ask the chef, then, here, and mademoiselle can
have it all by herself for her supper "

Maria MacCIachlin rose and motioned this strange
handmaiden away. With ber own hands she packed the
ball into the box again, and, lifting it on high as a
symbol or an offertory, carried it downstairs, through the
cold December night, across the gardens.

" Let me in, Barton," she said on the steps of the villa.
" This isn't British soil, but it's as near to it as I can
get"

"Ood bleas my soul, miss I" said Barton.

"We all need that. Barton," replied Maria MacCIach-
lin; " and never more than on Christmas eve."

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THE HEALERS

Kenneth Graje rose in astoniBhrnent as the little pud-
ding procession entered the sitting room.

"You're not overcheerfiil here," said Maria, glancing
round; "not ■ sprig of holly, or "

" H'm," said Barton.

" 3fiBtletoe," continued Miss MacClachlin atoutlj. She
placed the pudding on the table.

"Whom should I have it for?" asked Kenneth. "We
have never been able to make my nephew see the differ-
ence between his mother and — Ood."

" Begging your pardon, Mr. Graye," put in Barton, who
was a loquacious servant, "perhaps there wasn't so veiy
muck"

" Uy old nurse has sent me this, made with her own
hands. TouVe got a kitchen in this house, haven't you I
It seemed like an insult to Nannie to let it go down into
that French basement with a woman like Hortense." She
gazed down upon her pudding. " It's choke-full of love,"
she said.

A few momenta later she was busy, with her mauve
satin aleevee tucked up, in the dirty and disused little
kitchen, under a flaring gas lamp. Barton had been sent
back to his charge, with many "Beally, Mr. Oraye, you
must allow me'a."

Kenneth was down on the moist flags, blowing with a
bellows at the range. When the pudding had been lifted
smoking on its platter she turned to her helpmate, hot
and triumphant.

"I am a teetotaler," ahe said, "but I fear yon have
brandy in the house."

"I fear I have."

" I should like to light up my pudding, please."

It flamed gloriously in the little sitting room. "For
auld lang syne," said Maria MacClachlin, nibbling a piece
of the nonbrandied inside, and bestowing a plentiful help-
ing on Kenneth.

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" He'd eat the whole of it if we'd let him," replied the
latter, to her question ouent hia nephew. " Jamee'a appe-
tite JB ToraciouB."

She leaned back in her chair, looking at the young nan
opposite.

"Dr. LisBC Bays there is no reason," she said slowly,
"why be shouldn't live to be quite an old man."

He laid down the fork be had been toying with. She
had no idea how hard she bad hit bim with the one truth
into which he had, purposely, never inquired.

" How odd that we should be sitting here together like
this, on Christmas ere, eating Nannie's plum pudding!
It makes old friends of us. I wish, !Ur. Oraye, I could
help you with — ^with the heavier side of your life."

" There are few heavier things in life than plum pud-
ding," said Kenneth, laying down his fork again.

" How cruel of you to say thatl- But your digestion is
good; you ere young; you can bear trouble. You can
bear even yonr ezistencn, which must be such an awful
thing I "

"Please, don't," said Kenneth.

She bent forward, her clear eyee close to him. He sat,
looking back at her, uncomfortable. When she next
spoke, she said quite abruptly:

" I am thirty-five."

He resolved to eat more plum pudding rather than sit
staring thus.

" It is the bigger part of a life," she added.

" Halfway, aaya Dante," was his reply.

" My dear friend, let me ahaie your burden. Ton can't
possibly go on like this, through Uie coming years, alone I "

He wondered was the pudding choking him. Doea
plum pudding turn e dark skin red I

" To hear Dr. Lisse talk, Sir James will survive you 1 "

Maria hastened on. " Only think what that meansl Had

he told me there was any chance of deliverance I should

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never — believe me, dear friend — I should never have
dared to speak. But now, now, let me share yonr woric,
and you mine. There are momenta when my butcher boys
certainly need a man ; there must be momenta when your
nephew would be all the better for a woman's help. I
have been more suecesaful than you had expected, al-
ready, with the lamh."

"True," said Kenneth.

" Who knows what I might do for him f And you, you
could teach my huahaye golf."

" But I hardly understand "

" Yea, you do. I am asking you to many me. I realize
that you cannot offer yourself to any woman. You have
nothing to give. You cannot propose to a girl to share
your lifelong watch over this idiot. But a woman, if she
have no false shame, can say, ' I am willing.' And I do I "
She stood up before him, handsome in her enthusiasm.
"Let me help you I A life of trouble is so terrible to bear
alone! "

" You are far too good, far too kind," he answered,
much distressed. " I could not accept such a sacrifice."

" No sacrifice, but a very real pleasure" she said,

" You have no idea of James's condition."

"More, perhaps, than you think. Dr. Liase tella me
that possibly in the future — ^perhaps twenty years hence
— ^he may recover — and marry."

" Impossible ! " Kenneth clutched at the table ; the
room seemed to go round.

" Surely he has told you these things, sooner than met
Am I doing wrong in repeating them? Oh, dear Mr,
Graye, I am only trying to convince you 1 It isn't pleas-
ant for a woman, nor easy, even when she speaks because
she knows the man can't. Why should your whole, whole
life be ruined ! You've only one. It was cruel and selfish
of your sister-in-law — —"

"Hush I Hush I"

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" You're to live on like this till you're an old man, and
then, perhaps, the idiot "

"For Ood's aake, hoah!"

"I don't want to mention it," her voice had grown
calm again, " but, there's Rowangowan. It's far too much
for a woman. It wants a mau to look after it quite as
much ae my hvshays "

"Tou do me far too much honor. Any man would
be more than proud. But — I shall never marry."

" I know even why you aay that."

He stuttered in the greatest agitation.

"No, you don't No, you don't."

She looked at him serenely.

" I do. And because I knew, I came here to you thus,
on this last day before my return to Belleville, and —
offered myself to be your wife."

"Ton do not know. Tou cannot mean what you are
saying. I "

" If you knew, you would be aware that you aie pro-
posing to me to do a wicked thing."

"A wicked thing! No, my friend. Ah, the folly of
these doctors! God does not require us to be wise be-
yond our strenffth." He had covered his face with one
hand. There was silence between them till she said:
"Tou are right not to do this thing because I proposed
it. Quite right. But if ever, at any time in the future,
it should be possible for you— or you should wish to — to
ask a woman to — a younger girl, a girl yon love — if I am
anywhere near, come to me, and we, we will talk it over.
Wicked! Ah, no I Then God were wicked I Ah, what
fools these doctors are I Good night I "

And, leaving her big pudding in the middle of the table,

she turned to go softly from the room. But, halfway,

she looked at him and came back. "No, no," she said,

as if answering him, "I am to blame, I only. I am a

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meddleeome, pretentioiia old maid. I can't see mieery
aayvheK without fancying tiat I am specially deputed
by Providence to cure it. Miaerieorde aiu; moutonsl"
And you are by no means a 'mouton' — far from it, my
dear friend. Tou must atill allow me to call you that,"
"I never had a better friend; but I cannot marry,"
"It is that wicked, well-meant talk of yours, which has
led me astray. ' Better you, Maria, than nobody,' I said
to myself. But now, mark my words: when you love a
young giri who loves you, you will marry her, or you
will be a wickeder nian than I gave you credit for."
A cry resounded from the inner room.
" That I " he said passionately. " That 1 — and myself."
"It isn't much to offer," she answered, vrfth a woe-
begone Bmile, " and so, I suppose, the circumstances em-
boldened me. But, little as it ia, never mind — " She
closed the door. " It was too good," she continued aloud
to herself in the hall, " for— don't talk about sacrificing
your life, you silly fool I — for yon, Haria HacClachHn I "

c.bv Google

CHAPTER XI

Next da; beiiie Christmas da; Edward brought his
patient a box of dried fruits. The patient grunted ap-

"It does seem a pity, poor wretch," says Barton, the
servunt, " that he ain't allowed to eat hisself to death in
one day, and have done with it I "

" One of my troubles," says Kenneth, " is that I have
to let Barton talk, or he couldn't stand the strain."

"I wish you the blessings of ChristmaB, as we say in
my country," remarked Edward to Kenneth.

The young men, in their daily intercourse, had con-
ceived a sincere liHng for one another. To Kenneth,
eepeoiall;, the new doctor's personality was an ever-
incieasing relief.

"Thanks. I don't understand why you're not there,"
replied Kenneth. " What made you stay here I "

"The lamb's splints have got to be token off to-day,"
said Edward, smiling.

"Look here, Lisse, you're beginning to devote yourself
too entirely to James. One man's enough for that sort
of thing."

" It isn't that only," said honest Edward at once. " I'm
engaged to be married, and mj parents don't approve."

" Not an unusual state of affairs in any country, even
when the lady is quite eligible."

" She isn't so particularly eligible from their point of

view," answered Edward, delighted to talk on, now the

subject had at last been started; "rather outside their

ideas, you know. No money and no name to speak of.

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But apart from that, Oraye, she's — oh, she's the loveliest
creature In the vorld t "

" Show me her portrait," said the sympathetic Qraye.

Edward eagerly complied.

"Yes," said Graye, giviiig it back to him. Then, as
Edward waited for a little more, " Well, I think that one
word says a good deal, doesn't it I When a man carries
a portrait like that in his breast pocket he's done for,
Edward Lisse."

"We correspond," said Edward, satisfied, "but I have
practically undertakrai not to see her during this twelve-
month of study. My father hasn't exacted a promise —
that wouldn't be like him — but it's a sort of tacit under-
standing between us."

"She's in Holland!"

"No, at Brussels. But, under the circumstances, our
family party would hardly feel as united as of yore."

" you've known her for years ) "

"Seven weeks, on the day I proposed," answered Ed-
ward, laughing.

" Well," remarked Kenneth Graye, " my mother always
used to say the happiest matches were those between first
cousins or utter strangers. I suppose a man should either
marry a woman because he knows her thoroughly or be-
cause he don't know her at alL"

" What a philosopher you are I " It was Kenneth's turn
to laugh.

" The very thing I am not, of course I " he said. " I am
the — what d'ye call it? — impreesionist, and you are the
philosopher; but I never saw such a fellow as you are for
discovering imaginary virtues in your friends I "

" Is philosophy a virtue ) " asked Edward, rather sadly,
"or is it a compromise!"

However that momentous question may be answered,

it is certain that Kenneth's estimate was correct. From

his cramped and clouded boyhood, with its consistent ad-

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miration of the parentB he loved, as it were, over a stoBe
wall, Edward's nature, fundamentally so reserved, and jet
GO downright honest, had brought away an eager though
unconsciona appreciation of the good qualities in people
widely different from himself. In how far does that
most rare objectivity of sympathy account for his early
success with the mentally mieerable, the morally misbe-
gotten? Host of US are drawn to others by reflections of
what is best or worst in our own natures. Edward's up-
growing must have led him either to ignore goodness
altogether, or to see it wherever it lay hid.

"No, no; you are a philosopher," persisted Edward;
" I am simply a scientist. Shall we go and take off the
splints!"

" One moment t " Kenneth barred the door. " Did you
really tell Miss MacClacblin that James might marry
some dayt"

" I said the thing was not unthinkable. In our age, as
the last years have shown us, there are women who would
many a hog, if the law would allow them, provided the
Bty was paved with gold."

"But, speaking seriously, you told her he might get
hetteri What made you speak like thatt No one has
ever made him better, in any way, before." Kenneth
Graye's voice was low with intensity ; it demanded a reply.

" I believe — I have a faint hope— I think there is just
a chance of doing him a great deal of good." Lisse
walked away to the window and spoke fast, looking out.
" It looks like fate, your insisting on my speaking to-day.
Do you believe in fate! I don't. I don't know. But I
know that I had come here wanting to broach the
Bubject — not daring. Your compatriot must take the
blame. And Laura — her name is Laura — wrote me
yesterday to begin on this day. She has what you
would call superstitions — presentiments. They would not
do in medicine, but they do very well in the poetry of
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life. See here I" — ^he drew a letter from his pocket-
"'Why not take this day,' she writes, 'rather than an-
other, this Feast of the New Birth for the whole world t
Tell your friend of your projects. I feel confident of
success.'"

"What do you propose!" asked Kenneth, still in the
Game voice.

Edward came and sat down by the table, on which
stood all that Sir James had left of Haria MacGlachlin's
present.

" During these months," he said, " of close observation
the impression has daily deepened upon me which I re-
ceived when we first met. I am certain that, with your
nephew, it is not the brain which is defective ao much as
the way it is placed."

"But what does that mean?" cried Eeuneth.,

"It means that the brain is there, but he cannot use
it. In the commonest forms of idiocy the brain is not
developed at all — as if you had a stump instead of a hand,
you know. But here the complete hand is tied up, as it
were, compressed by the cranium, but the hand is there.
Not like scissors with the rivet out, so to speak, but like
scissors in a sheath."

" But the result is the same."

"Hitherto the result has been considered the same,
but "

"Well!"

" But I do not aee why the cranium, which is visibly
too small, should not be enlarged, so aa to make room for
the brain to expand."

"Haa anything of the kind ever been attempted be-
fore)"

"No." On that word followed a moment's silence;
then Edward said : " But it will be attempted aome day
by some one else, if not by me."

"And not on my nephew."

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"That does not depend on me. I believe it can be
done. And the first idiot to whom it is done vlth saccees
will thank God that he is a thinking man."

"'With snccQBB' — there jrou speak the word I And the
risk!"

"la tremendooB. I should have spoken much sooner
but for that. The operation involves trepanning. It is
a matter of life and death."

Kenneth Qraye came toward Edward with such sudden-
ness that the latter involuntarily fell back.

" Tou do not know what you are doing or saying," cried
Kenneth; "you t«ll me my nephew will live to be an old
man, and then you bid me — m« imperil his dayst"

" Live like this — if you call it life — in this state I "

" Say what you will, but not to me — me 1 If you had
spoken thus to his mother I — but I— don't you under-
stand? Sir James Oraye is rich; he is a great landed
proprietor. I am his guardian, and I am also his heir I"
Kenneth stood close to Edward, with wide-open eyes. " I
can't do itl" he said; "I can't 1 I can't I"

" There is no hurry," replied Edward ; " we can consult
others first. Of my theory I am certain. It struck me
as soon as you told me that your nephew could not bear
the light. I believe, moreover, he suffers, mentally, be-
yond our conception. It is not a question of operating
on him or leaving him in peace. It is a choice between
att^npting to deliver him or abandoning him to his tor-
ture."

"Toa think he suffers torture 1" cried Kenneth, in a
hoarse voice.

"I think he realizes, however dimly, his condition. I
expect fresh proof of that to-night Let us go to him."

The two young men passed into the inner room. Sir
James lay dozing in his chair, with the lamb beside him.

"If you please, Mr. Graye," says Barton, "I have to
watch that lamb most particular."

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EdwBid carried the animal, in its straw-filled tanlc, to
the far side of the room and began undoing its bandages.
Preaentl; he turned and called to £enneth,

" Tell Jamea that the leg is mended, and the lamb can
skip again."

" Jamee," said Kenneth, " the 1% is mended. The lamb
can skip again." No reply at first, then, veiy slowly, a
faint little noise of approval

"James, would you like to have it stay with you al-
ways now, and skip about the room ) "

Again no answer at first. Then a very distinct note
of refusal

" Oh, Jamea, you ought to keep it ! Who else will look
after it I It oan't skip as well as it used to do. Its leg
will always be stifi." Edward had drawn nearer, leading
the lamb, whioh stumbled and fell forward, in its pain-
ful gait. Aa it dragged itself close to the accustomed
armchair, the idiot slowly stretched down his long arms
toward it and gathered it up into his lap.

" Yon understand now," said Edward passionate to
Eometh, "why he has never wanted petst They were
always in first-rate condition when you brought them —
doge, of course, that scampered about the room. Chance
has given him this wounded beast, and he'll keep him —
as long as he doesn't skip too well." Kenneth was silent.
" In plainer words," continued Edward, " he knows he is
not like other creatures, and the thought is 8 constant
agony to him."

"Here is Dr. Ducrot," said Kenneth; "you don't mind
talking it over with him?"

" I want to talk it over with half the faculty," replied
Edward. " Think what it means to me 1 I am planning
to infiict all this suffering on a dumb, sentient creature.
He can't defend himself; he can't know what I am going
to do to him, and I ask you to let me torture him like
this!"

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Tbe head of the Stablisaemeut, Ducrot, entered his
wealthy patron's presence vith man; complunentaiy bows.
He liked people who took the little villas. He would
come to con^atnlate them on Christmas day, if they
were English, and again, as a Frenchman, on the jour
de Van.

"A meir; Greaee-mess," he said, and Ms InquisitiTe
director's gaze wandered to the dish on the table. He
was a tall, stout man, with a frock coat buttoned tight
and bulging out downward. The glossy eyes in hia red,
grizde-fringed countenance seemed always squinting to
get a better view of his huge rosette of the Legion of
Honor.

For reply, Edward told him almost immediately of the
subject that occupied their thoughts. With brief tech-
nicalities he described hie great operation, an absolutely
new undertaking then, although of late years it has, of
course, been repeated with such signal success by Oremoni.
Ducrot, who was a bit of a hotel manager, but an ex-
cellent doctor all the same, listened with discriminating
attention, Kenneth meanwhile proffered him the un-
known delicacy, of which, being a greedy man, he par-
took.

"I like to examine," he said, "whatever is novel to
me."

At the present hour his admiration for Edward is al-
most unbounded, and he has long ago forgiven Kenneth
Qiaye.

"If only it were possible," said Dr. Duciot^ "to look
inside." He sat down, contemplating regretfully the
black crumbs on his plate. " A thing has happened to me
this last week, mon eher coU&gve, of which I should hardly
dare to speak, but that it bubbles up in my thoughts. A
patient here, a bad case of neurasthenia, sent, at the le-
peated instigation of a friend, a curl of hair cut from
the neck to a clairvoyant living at Geneva. I cut it off
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myself and forwarded it, to convince hen of her folly.
At the time she waB sufiering from a temporary inflamma-
tion of the throat. She knew not the name of the clair-
voyant, nor the clairvoyant hers. TeBterday comee back
Uie reply. I read it myself . ' The peiBon to whom the
hair belongB has a bad throat which will soon be better.
She is very weak ; that will persist.' Incredible ! " He
threw up one podgy hand — " I read it myself. And drugs
are prescribed, harmless herbs — for the throat alleviative,
for the neurasthenia absurd. And the charge is ten
francs!" Again that movement of the hand, with a
heavy, despondent drop. " Cher collegue, what are we
doctors to ansvert We believe in none of these things, of
course, yet when they befall us I This marvelous diag-
nosis is a fact."

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,"
began Kenneth. He caught Edward's e^e; it twinkled.
" I beg your pardon," cried Kenneth, " I oughtn't to have
said that. Any fool would have said that."

"No, no," protested Edward. A dear figure rose up
before him in a flaming tiger skin. " Only we ought to
have got on a bit since Shakespeare's time," he said, " but
we haven't."

I>ucrot, who didn't like being dragged out of his depth,
waved hia hand.

" One such strange thing happened here before," he con-
tinued, " one only. Some years ago a patient was taken
suddenly, dangerously ill. While we were deliberating
how we could send for his wife to the other end of Paris,
she knocked at the door. She said afterwards she had
hard him calling her by a pet name known to him only,
thric^ half an hour ago, in her room."

"Oh, thafs telepathy.l" said Kenneth. * Everybody
nowadays believes in telepathy."

"I told Charcot of it," said the doctor, not heeding

him, but addressing Edward, " I told Charcot, myself 1 "

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He Btmok his breast and the roeette. " I, I>iiorot, I vouch
for the truth of it ! The great man said, ' t7n jour la
tcience parlera.' "

" It is time," said Edward. " The -worst a that, like
anjr infallihle religion, she alvays has to admit to-mor-
row what she laughed at the day before. Do you know
what we have had at the Salpetri^re this last wtA, for
all the world to see? A woinaa who, in her magnetic
trance, reads the contents of a sealed envelope placed on
her brow."

" I wish such things did not happen," said Kenneth.

" Why f Because we do not understand them ? "

" It makes one feel as if all the world were mad." He
shook himself together. " As if the sanest might be mad
to-morrow."

Ducrot rose. He undeiatood English though he did not
speak it. "Maia non, mais non," he said, " madness is
a pathological condition of the body. It is an illnees that
few contract, like ataxy." He walked out, repeating this
favorite sentence aloud, "It is an illness that few con-
tract, like ataxy."

On the perron he made way, with a great sweep of
his hat, for an unknown lady. It was a rule with him
never to interfere with visitors to the villas. It amused
him now to think, as be ambled oB, that ho beautiful A
young creature should call on Kenneth Oraye.

"Paul que U docteur Lisse a'en alle" he said to him-
self.

" Yes; it is I — ^Laura. I came," said the visitor, in the
drawing-room doorway.

The next thing Kenneth saw was a true lovers' em-
brace. Explanations followed afterwards.

" Yes, I came. After I bad written my letter iBst night,
I could not stay stilL So I took this morning's train. I
am come."

"But you shouldn't "

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"Fiet Do you want me to go away again) "

"No; oh, Dol"

" Well, then, be logical." So be kissed ber again.

For Eennetb had Hoftly closed the door on them and
stood in the half-dark, gazing at hie nephew. Sir James
lay in the chair, as always, with the lamb cuddled close
against him, his eyes staring downward at nothing, dead-
alive.

This, then, was Kenneth Qraye'a existence since he had
been called away from the university to the dying wom-
an's side. He had promised. "I cannot die," she had
gasped in her physical agony, "until you have promised.
Help me to diel" With a man of his temperament it
hardly required such pressure. He leaped at the idea of
succoring this moat pitiable head of his race. During
three years he had wandered with him from doctor to
doctor, hardly letting him out of his Bight. He believed
that James knew him. It was certain that the boy
had grieved for his mother's death — her absence, at any
rate.

Kenneth did not regret or complain. He could not
but comprehend that his life was one of self-sacrifice, and
to some natures such subconscious conviction is a per-
manent happiness and reward. He had therefore gone
on, unthinking, content to know that his daily task had a
worthy object, not self -chosen. And who of us, still bur-
dened by conaciencee, would aak more of their fatet

But now, for the first time, the dilemma of possible de-
liverance rose straight in his path. He could pass by it
and continue as heretofore, yet never without recalling
that be might have turned aaide. And the turning meant,
to this ward of his, certain danger, probable death. And
if death, then for himself wealth and rank.

It were easy enough for him, says the healthy man,

to let the consensus of doctors decide. But when you

have traveled all over Europe vrith your hopeless and

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vealthy incurable, the labyriiithine opinions of the doc-
tors leave 7011 seeking, under the search, for jonr own.

Kenneth stood gazing at this human object, this sen-
tient thing. To apeak with it, reasonably, on this or an;
other matter, was impossible. There it lay, as it had
lain for years. Fossib^ mournful; certainly discon-
tented; glad of good food. A ray of late suneMne, slant-
ing throu^ the curtains, struck its sunken face. It
moved peevishly, and grunted its irritated note. Kenneth
went over and pulled the curtain.

The lamb looked up, bleated, and falling from the knees
by which it lay, ran, with its cluamy skippinga, to the
disappearing light. The idiot's dull gare seemed to fol-
low it; then suddenly Sir James broke into loud, dis-
cordant weeping. In a moment Kenneth was beside him
with words of soothing and endearment; the crying bat
redoubled, bearing down every attempt to reach the
weeper. The man Barton came hurrying in from the
passage as Kenneth put his arm round the idiot's neck.

" Ob, Sir JamesI Sir Jamesl " shouted Barton. " Oh,
Hr. Graye, what's the matter! I've never seen him ci;
like this I "

"Heaven knows what's the matter," said Kenneth
Graye. " I have once before, three days after his mother
died."

The idiot filled the house with his hysterical lamenta-
tions, terrible to hear. They brought Lisse from the ad-
joining room, while Laura hung trembling in the door-
way.

" Don't I Don't 1 " murmured the doctor in a strain of
supplication, and, after some moments, "Silence I" in
stem snaps of command. The idiot beard nothing, shriek-
ing miserably, on and on. It was then that the girl
knelt, shrinking, beside him, and passed her hands softly,
persistently over his face. He flui^ it away from her
at first, weeping as a huma'n dog might weep in the utter
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abandomuent of a howling sorrow, but, as her own hancU
steadied, b; a mighty effort of eelf-contiol she drew him
gently against the cushions and lulled him there very,
very slowly, in rhythmic rise and fall of recurrent move-
ment, till his shrieks died, brokenly, down to sobs, and hia
. eyelids drooped, with the great tears oozing under them,
and gradually, in lessening twitches and gasps, he sank
to a ailent rest. Then she rose, and all four stood looking
at him. He was asleep.

"He TBTy seldom crioi at all," said Kenneth, "and
never like this. Except several days after his mother's
death, when he realiied, I have always supposed, that she
was gone."

" If you please, Mr. Qraye," suggested Barton, " I fancy
the lamb makes Sir James unhappy."

" He loves it because it is lame," said Edward, " and he
cries because he has lamed it."

" By Jove, I believe you are right. If only, as Ducrot
said, you could look inside him," cried Kenneth, "and
find out whether he ought to be operated on 1 "

"Shall I try to look inside him?" said I<aura.

The men stared at her.

" Cut off some of his hair," stammered Kenneth, " like
Dr. Ducrot)"

" Edward " — she spoke to her lover only — " you haven't
told me what this operation is. Don|t I I wanted to come
this morning. Call it a fancy, a feeling; I don't claim a
higher name. I don't understand about these things, my-
self. But one thing I have discovered since I was at
Brussels, by accident; I am what they call a clairvoyant;
not a v^7 good one, but still you might try. Put me to
deep, Edward. Hypnotize me, as they do at the Sal-
pStiidre I "

In her voice was such a mingling of entreaty and coun-
sel that he could not resist her. He drew her to the
bright lamp outside, and a few moments later he laid her,
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in her trance, beBide the Bleeping boy. Then, with a
shudder he will never forget, he drew the idiot's fingers
within her slender hands.

Then Kenneth and he waited in silence. Barton tried
in vain to peep through the keyhole.

"It may be — it may be Ood's answer," whispered Ed-
ward nnder hia breath.

'As if she had heard him, the sleeping woman began to
speak. In slow stammering at first, then almost imper-
ceptibly, with increasing assurance: "Oh, the pain — ^the
pain I " she said. Her own eyebrows contracted over the
fast-closed eyee. " The paint " She moved restlessly, and
lapeed into silence. Edward bent over her. With all the
experience he had acquired at the great hospital he deep-
ened the sleep from which she was manifestly striving to
awake. " Don't I you hurt me ! " The lover's heart stood
still. "Take away the light 1" she resumed immediate,
in the same constrained voice, " it hurts my eyes. Such
a heavy, pressing pain I My head I The back of the head I
It presses, presses, presses! Do you want me to speak,
Edward? How can I speak, or think, when it presses
sot If it would leave oS pressing I think I could— oh,
don't I — don't any more I — it hurts me so I " She fetched
a deep sigh, and lay struggling spasmodically; then she
grew utterly still. In the darkness Kenneth put out
his hand and clutched Edward's, dropped it, and turned
away.

In the darkness Edward remained seated, motionless, by
the two softly breathing forms. A faint gray mist of
light spread through the chink of the door whidi Ken-
neth had left ajar as he wandered away into the early
December night. The silvery shadow lay, indistinct,
about the sleepers, wrapped in gloom. When, at last, Ed-
ward stirred, it was to unclose the touch of those folded
hands. He sat gazing at them, as they lay there to-
gether, his beautiful Laura and — ^be.
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To Edward Lisae, harine: the medical instinct grown
strong within him and increasingly blended with his
earliest passion of pity, to Edward IJsse this creature
was, primarily, not an object of repulsion but of resolute
hope. The weariness, and worse, of daily tending fell to
others. En the doctor made his appearance the patient
had always been more or less tidied, pulled together, and
set up. And to this doctor the sad-faced, ineeponsiTe
unfortunate had taken, as far as in hini seemed to be^
lees ostentatiously than any dog would, that opens atten-
tive eyes and wags a welcoming tail. But Barton, who
somehow divined intangible phases by intuitions that he
could not enucleate, maintained that Edward's personal-
ity, as distinguishable from his " doctordom," was agree-
able to Sir James. " Sir James alius likes a doctor," said
Barton, " but it's not the doctor he likes most in Mr.
Lisse." It might have been noticeable that Barton always
spoke of Edward as Hr., not Dr., Lisse.

" That he likes doctors and craves for them daily, in his
solitude, in his silence — my Ood, what a thought 1 I can't
get away from it day or night I Ton can't realize what
it means of dark, pent-up suffering, of hope against hope,
semiconscious, grown sick I It is that set me yearning
and striving and planning to help him — as men strike,
without rest, at a wall in a mine, behind which they know
human creatures are gasping for relief. And I'll help him
yet

" Tes, Laura, I'll help him now 1 " These words were
uppermost in Edward's mind. There was no triumph in
them, and little self-confidence; he set his teeth hard.
Immense rose before him, as ever in his later career, the
certainty of suffering, the inevitable risk. These have
always been Its subjective weakness, and possibly part of
its objective strength. As for the prizes of the pro-
fession — success, fame, requital, and, surely to some na-
tures the greatest, gratitude — these have appeared, so to
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speak, Tound ihe comer, when all was over, an ever-new
Burpriae.

"Heaven help me, I believe I can help him," thought
Edward. Not that be actually expected, or could have
elucidated, the possible int«Tventioa of "Heaven" ; but
the thought was as sincere as the worda that had just
fallen from him when he epoke to Kenneth of Qod'a
repl;. Such thought fitted into Edward's religious atti-
tude^ which ma; be defined as that unwilling certainty
we like to dub, semiecientifically, agnosticism. From
youth he had striven, with honest endeavor, to assimilate
bis father's distinction between credo quia proiatum in
science and credo gvia abgurdum m religion. He had
failed, to bis sincere regret, for be could not but see bow
this pellucid discrimination provided the profeesor with
two soft yet solid pillows, whereon his unconscious soul
slept serene. " Tour father," protested the baroneea, quite
petulantly, " is the greatest man of science and the most
simple-bearted believer in tbis city. I don't ask of you
to rival him in either field, but surely, Edward, your
Bcience isn't so overwhelming, compared with his" — a
fine twist of the voice here — " that it need keep a little
Tninimnm of religion out I " To such reasoning only one
reply was possible : Edward went to church.

Church — the Oalvinistic predication — afforded him
little aatisfactioH. But to the blatant irreligion of Ms
medical fellow-students his wistful mind felt still less
attuned. Tbe university tone of that day was flatly
materialistic; miracles don't happen; spirits are nons^ise;
corpses are dead; and all that sort of tawdry truth. The
professor's unique church-going was r^arded by all his
colleagues as an atavistic survival, till it took tbe quite
unexpected shape of a political programme. Then it dis-
gusted them all. Edward, painfully conscious of bis
share in bis father's incongruous parliamentary develop-
ments, quivered under his classmates' coarse allusions to
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the baron's time-Berving reli^oeity. They quoted to Mm
the well-known words of a famous ser^iteenth-centurjr
poet:

" What Mt woald llok the auidl«(rtiek.
Did gmw not bi Ita handle itiakT"

" If B m; fault," thought poor Edward, loving his father
the more. And of ctmrtw it was his fault, like so man?
of the innocent things we do. From that night when be
crept down and secretly slew the rabbit he had never got
clear of the confusion between right and wrong. The
two certainly were not distinguishsble, and probably Mb
uniTeisity teachers were right, who said that neither ex-
isted. Uore reasonable, surely, than his Calvinistic social
suTTOundinga, wMcb only looked for than on Sundays, in
church.

As an immense relief from the numbed discomfort of
such thinkings, came, like the flinging open of a pad-
locked door, the sudden realiEation of a world intangible,
not beyond, but within, the world of inmiediate sense.
So much he owed to Laura. Whether hie father'a abstract
divinity were correct or not, his profeesors' finite material-
ism was false. The tricks of the spiritists were doubtless
largely a delusion, but the five senses as yet hardly ex-
plained the new phenomena of animal magnetism, of
telepathy and second sight. These easily provable in-
credibilities, at whose vague rumor he had sneered in
company with the whole university, suddenly happened
before Mb eyes. There existed, then, in tMs world which
for the last twelve yeara had been only microbe and matter
— ^with angels, quite unconnected, behind the clouds —
there existed vast Bpiritua] forces aa yet only vaguely
comprehended. Miracles were possible, for the miracle of
to-day is the scientific truth of to-morrow. There, in-
deed, was a whole new field of congenial study, a wide
scope of possible psycMc ascent. The dull mass of mi-
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crobe and matter was become no longer an aU-important
self olaject, but the commonplace garment of the Tondrous
human soul-
All tlie rest, that occupied these men, that oooapied his
own father eutiTely, was secondaiy, transitoi;, auziliai;,
limitable — suddenly dwarfed; the one central fact of the
universe, the permaoent reality, was the psychic per-
Bonality of man — the Spirit that informs the shapeless
material, the essence of all things, the light in the lamp.
And that Spirit, in its marvelous transcendental derelop-
m^its, was an object not ozily of credos to be accepted,
quia dbsurda, but of strictly scientific studies, like
Charcot's, to be pursued into the unseen. Whither such
study will lead us, who can say! Hardly nearer his
mother's Ood, but at least away from the purblind asser-
tion that the soul of man or animal is no more than an
attribute of its £eeh.

Edward stood looking down at " the idiot." " If the
religion of my youth be correct," he said, " your soul has
nothing to do with your body; and if the teaching of my
professors be true, you haven't a soul beyond your body
at all ; but I believe you have a sort of soul, James Oraye,
and such soul as you have, more or less, I'll deliver from
your body, by God ! "

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

CHAPTEB XTT

A rew dayB later tlie profeBBor, aailing in hid wonted
nuumer, with flying coat and tilted hat and a load of
books, down the long Leyden Orachl, met the postman,
and, stopping short, acknowledged the man's salute with
a half-circle sweep of the arm. Whereupon the postman,
who, like everybody, was on conTersational terms with
Baron Lisse, proffered the daily pile of rubbish with which
the penny post has endowed the householder, and also a re-
mark on the seasonable character of the enow; the pro-
fessor, selecting the remark (with unscientific disapproval
of the snow as " rheumatic ") and a letter from Edward,
sailed rhythmically on.

The letter from Edward he managed to opea and read
as he went along, in spite of the people and carts that
he met, and his loosely held cargo of volumes. It told
how the operation of which Edward had repeatedly writ-
ten was now fixed for the second of January, the novel
experiment — thitherto restricted to cases of hydrocephalus
in infants — having encountered the eympathetic concur-
rence of the faculty. " Before this consensus that the
thing should be tried," wrote Edward, " the uncle has at
last given way. I pity him from the bottom of my heart.
His anxiety and imcertainty are worse than mine."

" Pity will be his downfall," said the professor sternly.
" A doctor may perhaps pity his patient — though it's un-
scientific — but certainly not his patient's friends." The
professor stood still at a street comer and held the letter
away from h'tn , " The day after to-morrow I " he ex-
claimed.

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THE HEALERS

" Pardon me," aaid a voice at his elbow, " but I am
suiel; correct in the impFession that I am speaking to the
great Baron LiBse!"

" U7 name is Lisee, eir," replied the profeesor, dropping
a volume. The stranger picked it up so eagerly that the
professor, in the flurry of mutual compliment, dropped a
couple more.

"The difference between you and me, profeesor," re-
marked the stranger, walking away with the professor's
biggest folio under his arm, " is that everybody knows of
your greatness, and nobody as yet knows of mine." He
continued his road, reflectively digesting his own state-
ment, and, ae the professor made no attempt to dispute
it, "There is an undeniable distinction," added the

" I think I could carry that book myself," timidly sug-
gested the professor. But the other hugged the voliune
more closely. " Tou are proceeding homeward ! " he said.
" Evidently. They told me at the door you were not in.
I have waited ten minutes before the doorstep. A — a not
very — ah — conciliatory domestic, if I may be allowed to
say as much."

The pTofeeaor smiled in spite of himself. " I trust no-
body was rude to you at my house," he began courteously.

The other interrupted him: "Rudeness is a subjective
thing. Kobody can be rude to me, for I never feel it.
Uy name, sir, though you do not inquire after it, is
Bitterbol. May I ask. Professor Lisse, do you know what
thia object is I" And with surprising celerity, on the
Leydeu Canal, he produced from his tail pocket a big,
hairy, brown ball

" A cocoanut," replied the professor, bowing low to hia
washerwoman.

" Cocoa buiiracea," announced Mr. Bitterbol, standing

on the professor's doorstep and producing from the other

pocket a similar fmit. At imminent risk of dropping the

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THE HEALERS

folio, he held both brown balls aloft in the wintiy face
of beaven. The fat washerwoman turned, interested, and
the pictuTeaque fishwife stopped scraping the live fioun-
deis on the st«p.

The ppofesaor, Hhuddering at sight of the fishwife's oc-
cupation, mounted haatilj to hia own front door. "My
— my time is mucli taken," he muttered as he went. " I —
I never eat cocoanuts. Elita I " — with a sudden cry of
relief — " please take the book from the gentleman. Good
day I"

The baroness stood in the hall, greatly agitated.
" Laura is with Edward 1 " she said. " She went off to
Paris. He has just written to say she is there!"

" The operation is the day after to-morrow," replied
the professor. " A much more important matter."

" I advise you to listen to me," cried the stranger, try-
ing to dodge round Eliza. " I assure you there is no
we more competent to speak on the subject."

"Of hydrocephalus!" exclaimed the professor, in
amasement, coming back.

" Of cocoanuts," replied the stranger, abashed.

" There is a similarity," said the professor, in his most
amiable manner, as he attentively inspected the object
Mr. Bitterbol had put into his hand. Then he softly
deposited it on a box he had not before noticed in the
hall. "Although this, of course, my dear," lie added
apologetically, " is not a case of hydrocephalus."

"It is a case of cocoanuts," explained the stronger,
"which I ventured to leave here "

" Though I tried to prevent him," put in Eliza, who
was quarreling with the washerwoman.

" I suppose the man wants money," suggested the baion-
ns, wintering loud.

" A natural want, and a pardonablel " mildly responded
the profcBBor.

" I have come not to ask for money, but to bring itt"
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THE HEALERS

said the stranger in a ahriU Toioe; and he Talked nnin-
vited into the little waiting room vhich ie a featuie of
moBt Dutch honBee, heedless oi Eliza's cap — a back view
of protest — and the baroness's " Your brother is wait-
ing to see you I " — a broad but apparently inefFective
hint.

Now, a diaresiaTded hint is a distinct expreesion of
opinion. The stranger therefore took a seat, without
more ado, in the little room, and again addressed the
professor in the same far-reaching voice : " You are the
first authority in Europe," he announced, " on microbic
infection."

"That," spake the baroness, "is certainly true," and she
paused in the passage.

" It is outrageous I " cried Eliza ; but she meant the
price of the flounders.

The baron delicately closed the door.

" Right I " said Mr, BitterboL " Eliminate the women,
and come to business I "

The baron smiled his quiet smile, a little frightened,
like a mouse with the cat opposite. " It is not the slight-
est good using that word to me," he said. " My brother
does all my business. Shall I call him I " And he leaped
to the door.

" No 1 " shonted the stranger, striking his remaining
cocoanut down in the middle of the table and leaving it
there. He sat back from it, with his hands stretched be-
tween, big, burly, red, sailor-like, bluff. His voice rose
over tempests; his whole manner betokened steering
against contrary streams.

"Yonder lies," he said, pointing, "what is going to
make your fortune and mine I " The professor waited.

" Cocos huiiraceal " continued Mr. Bitterhol, lingering
lovingly over the words, " lactitana frugifera LinncBi."

" I am no botanist," said the professor.

"In these days, when the whole world demands with
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THE HEALEES

one voice the Btflrilization of its chief source of nutriment
for the newborn, the old and ailing "

"And quite right, too," put in the ppofeesoi".

" Which you, and Buch ae yon, have declared to be its
diief source of infection I " cried the stranger.

" We could not help that," aald the professor, turning
red.

Mr. Bitterbol lifted the cocoanut on the tips of two
fingers and a thumb.

" The sole milt," he said solemnly, " which is absolutely
guaranteed by nature, free of possible contact with mi-
crobes of any kind."

" Allow me — " began the professor, immediately argu-
mentative, with finger upraised.

But Ifr. Bitteibol bore hiin down. " I will not allow
you. Let me explain first. The auxiouB motheTs of
Christendom, sir, have a right — they have a right, I say —
to demand restitution of this thing you have taken from
them I And what have you taken away ! Milk, sir — milk !
The food of their puling infants, that cry vainly for
nourishment! Their own milk, sir, is contaminated by
hereditary disease. The cows of the country are laden
with tuberculosis, typhus, scarlatina, whooping-cough 1"

" Not whooping-cough 1 " protested the professor.

"They will be to-morrow, then," said Mr. Bitterbol
coolly. " The asses — the she-asses that, in our youth, we
used to see tinkling along the streets at suuset — we now
know they carried death from door to door. The world,
sir, disturbed in its inmost bosom — I speak accurately —
the distressed maternity of the whole civilized — aU too
civilized! — human race demands milk — untainted milk I
You can't give it." Mr. Bitterbol rose in his excitement
and flung his billycock on the floor.

The courteous professor picked it up. "We shall
sterilize satisfactorily in time," said the professor.

" In time 1 " cried Mr. Bitterbol indignantly. " What
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timet If yon at this moment had a babe on your knee "
— the professor looked down hastily — "what would you
reply to it wheo it cried, ' Gire me milk ' t ' Two years
hence, my dear, when we have learned to sterilize satis-
factorily I ' Pshaw I "

"True," admitted the professor sadly. "But what
would pou do?"

"It I should say, ' Take away all yonder contaminated
fluids!'" Hr. Bitterbol swept the empty table with a
magnificent geeture. " I should say " — he held his cocoa-
nut on high — "'Here ia nature's sterilization, unspoiled
by any contact with animal disease ! " He sat down
suddenly, and in a matter-of-fact tene, " This vari-
ety" — tapping the brown, hairy thing — ^"from Suma-
tra "

" Ah, Sumatra I " ejaculated the professor.

"Tou object!"

" By no means. I was only thinking."

" — Is especially rich in milk. That milk, sir, ia in-
closed by nature in an absolutely impenetrable case."
Hereupon he split it open with a jackknife, and the
professor smiled at human logic "Taste it I" said Mr.
BitterboL The professor, whose chief dread at all timea
was to hurt other people's feelings, laboriously sucked up
the liquid from the proffered cup. " That milk, sir, that
delicious beverage, that boon, that ambrosia "

" Nectar," eaid the professor. He couldn't help it.

"Nectar, indeed, as you say. That nectar, that am-
brosia, we intend to supply to every mother in Christen-
dom, soldered in tin envelopes, as imported, with patent
apparatus — patent, mark you; that's the point — with
patent apparatus for conveying the fluid direct from the
inside of the fruit to the lips of the child, without open-
ing it, and possibly infecting it, as I have donel" He
gazed triumphantly at the professor, who was endeavoring
to foi^t the taste in his mouth.
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THE HEALERS
" All that we now need," said Mr. Bitterbol, " is your

"You have the apparatus ?" aaid the profeeaor in-
creduloualj.

The other looked him in the face. " I am a practical
man," said Bitterbol, " and an honest one. I won't waate
time. I have the apparatus, and, what's more to the
point, the pat^its. The apparatus, of course — you see,
I'm frank, and, besides, I couldn't take you in if I wanted
to — is bosh, like all the rest of 'em — filters, sterilizators,
the whole blessed lot. Ton agree to that)"

" Not absolutely," said the professor uncomfortably.

" Well, then, relatively, which in this matter comes to
tlie same thing. But the milk's pure, and the idea's first-
rate. What we want is enormous scientific authority —
overwhelming, sir, and conclusive authority, A name,
sir, such as Lisse I " Jii. Bitterbol flung up the hand that
held the other half of the Butiracea. A great splaA of
white liquid made straight for the professor.

"Tou see the abundance of it!" Mr. Bitterbol said
ooolly. "Laciitana Linnwi. Nature's Coco-motherl Or,
more simply, Liase's Mother's Milk I " He checked the
professor. " Not ' sterilized,' which can he easily proved a
sham, but sterile by nature, incorruptible, unbacteriable,
immicrobable t We will coin the new words for the new
thing! It will be easiest in Oerman, but we will do it in
all languages of Europe and Asia. We will take your
portrait on every cocoanut — see you get it — ^noue genuine
without — and your little dissertation — not too short — on
the dangers of cow's milk and condensed milk — eepecially
our dangerous rivals, the tins — and your name, sir, your
name! Lisse's Milk, professor. The simpler the better.
With all the explanatory titles underneath, in amalj caps I
Liebig's Meat Extract ! Lisse's Milk I "

" Tour proposition is absurd," said the professor.

" Tou have not yet heard," replied Mr, BitterboL " We
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THE HEALERS

fnllf realize your most important share in tlie under-
taidng, and we offer you a small royalty on every patent
coco-mother sold. The result, sir, will be immense, b^ond
anything yon expect."

"And who financea this concern!" demanded the pro-
fessor, red in the face, but feeling very busineeslike.

"Tour question is a legitimate one," answered Bitter-
bol, smiling, " Be sure I did not venture to approach
you before I prepared my reply. As a matter of fact, the
idea only is mine, I am quite a poor man. But here" —
he hurriedly drew a letter from his breast pocket — " you
will eee how the scheme appeals to our great financiers,"
He spread out the letter, " Bead the name at the bottom
of that page, sir, the name only," Mechanically the pro-
fessor did so, and could not conceal a Jerk. Bitterbol
laughed aloud. "Aha, you may well jump, baroni That
man guaianteee you and me, sir, three hundred thousand
francs for adTertisement, annually, during five yean."

" Incredible 1 " cried the professor, who had fiushed scar-
let at the "you and me,"

"Not at all We shall want quite that. Every quack-
eiy — ^Dot that this is a quackery — is entirely a matter of
advertisement. My idea, your authority, his advertise-
menta: the thing's done."

" You have used the right word there," stuttered the
professor, no paler. " Quack — quack — quackery."

" I have," asserted Mr. Bitt«rboI. " Quackery — medi-
cine, whichever you like. Is there a difference! "

"Tea"

"Which!" The professor searched for a reply.

"Ifedicine is quackeiy with a university stamp," said
Mr. Bitterbol.

" Then you shall not have mine," retorted the profeesor.

" You cannot be speaking seriously. The patent medi-
cines of to-day are as harmless as the old ones, but, what
with this silly progress of science — I beg your pardon —
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people are beginnins to profer a doctor's name attached.
Dr. So-and-So's quackery, i. e., medicine. I may warn you
that the aterilized milk busiueBS is being seriously coq-
aidered by your great rival "

" I have no rival ; I have only f ellow-workerB," said the
profeaeor.

"The colonel aaks. Do you think he should waitt"
cried Elizs at the keyhole.

Hr. Bitterbol buttoned his coat. " My proposition," he
said, " means many thousands a year to you. Look round
at all the great cocoas and patent foods, and the whole
gigantic swindle that mokes the world go round t And
this isn't ft swindle. It's an incontrovertible fact that the
nuts in the hall contain no microbes. Examine them.
Examine the patent hermetoids, ab we have called the
cases. Examine the patent sucker — see what an ingenious
thing it is I These ideas, sir " — ^he tapped his expanding
chest — "are mine I Yonder letter I leave with you "

"1 must beg of you not to do that," squeaked the
professor. "Whatever people leave with me I always
lose."

Hr. Bitterbol hastily refined possession of the letter
and substituted a visiting card. " I will allow you a fort-
night," he said. "The proposal is a magnificent one. I
say you have no idea what it means. At the expiration
of that fortnight I take our scheme to "

"Don't tell me his name I" cried the professor. "I
shall hear it too soon, if he accepts."

The stranger stood still in the doorway. " I am a poor
man. My future is in your hands," he said, rather clev-
erly. Then he went out, and Eliza slanmied the front
door after hiTn ,

" Did he want to sell cocoanuts ? " aaked the baronees,
in the drawing-room.

"Yea, thousands of them," replied the professor.

" Tou could never eat so many," remarked the colonel,
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THE HEALERS

The baroness arched her eyebrows; but she did that
whatever Imphi-Boshek said.

"This being the last day of the year," continued the
colonel, "I thought I should like to come over and tell
you about your a&airs. I have good news for you,
brother; these last inTestmentH have been very successful."

" The professor rubbed his hands gleefully. " Aha I " be
said. "Very right! very right 1"

" What investmenta are they! " asked the baroness nerv-
ously.

"My dear sistei^in-law, what can women understand
about such matters f Inveetments 1 Financial invest-
ments, dear Janel "

" I see," said the baroness ironically. " I thought they
were other."

"City investments."

"I see," said the baroness again. "Naturally, the in-
vestment of a city b the only sort of investment a soldier
would know about." She walked away from them, her
fedings being too much for her.

"Ha-ha! Excellent 1 First-rate!" shouted the colonel.
"My dear Thomas, what grip! what intellectual attain-
ments! But, as I was saying, I am sure the paraffin is
going to be very satisfactory."

"Paraffin. I thought it was rubberl" said the pro-

" Oh, the rubber is going to be very aatisf aetoiy, too I
We are going to make money, Thomas, money ! "

" I thank Heaven," said the professor fervently.

" And so you may in these days, when everything is
going to the dogs. Only this morning the paper was
full of commercial depression. I don't like commercial
depression, Thomas. It isn't good for a country. Wealth
in a country is a desirable thing, Thomas, if only the
right people own it. This polity of oure, as I under-
stand it, rests on three Walla : William, Wisdom (whereby
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I mean the I&tellectualB), and Wealth. We need all three,
Thomas I " And the dapper little colonel tvirled round
on hie patent-leather boots and flung up, across his red
cheeks, his bellicose mustaches.

" Then where do 70U come in f " asked the baroness, by
the window.

"I am not one of the Powers; I am only one of the
People," he answered sweetly, "Prince Poweis, and
People I M7 brother, Baron Llsse, should be one of the
Powers."

"He is more than that," replied the baroness, with
promptitude. " He is more eren than the Prince. He is
a Principle I" She struck the window pane. "He's a
Principle I" she said.

"My dear," remarked the baron very gently, "I trust
you know what that means." Then he turned to his
brother. "I am glad, very glad there will be more
money," he said. " I have always fancied there would be
enough, until last year, when you proved to me that there
ought to be more. I detest everything connected with
mon^, eepedslly the wont of it" He repeated this
sentiment, which struck him as remarkably correct.

"ITobody should speculate unless they know all about
it," replied the coloseL " My friend Abrahams is a Prop
of the Stock Exchange, a Podtive Prop. As a port, I
understand Amsterdam ia doomed, but as a financial cen-
ter it is daily increasing in importance. I admit that is
a bad sign, but what will you have! — the whole country
is going to the dogs. Meanwhile Abrahams will make
our fortunes. When the impending explosion comes,
I, as a soldier, hope to die on the palace steps. Tou,
not being a fighting man, can cut your coupons
abroad."

" We will see," said the baron, his keen ^e kindling.

" So I wish you a Happy New Tear," concluded the

colonel, taking up his smartly polished hat. "I nnder-

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atanii from Jane that the two girls remain at Genera, on
account of an outbreak of meaalee in the school t "

" The incubation of meaelea," replied the profeesor, " is
a subject on vhich wb are singularly ignorant. But it
is certain that travel increases the virulenoe of a poaaible
attack."

" It ia aeUiDishing to me how little you really discoTer
by dissecting the worms out of people's insides." Having
said this the colonel took bis departure. In the doorway,
however, he aimed a last thrust at his sister-in-law.
"Here is Elizal I always think of you three as a trio;
the Professor, the Poet, and the Pivot I "

"A better trio, perhaps," said the baroness bitterly,
" than the Professor, the Politician, and the Prop." She
came close to her husband, motioning the woman away.
"These money-makers 1 " she said, in French. "This
Abrahams I your brother t "

"Francis has been remarkably succeeafnl. My dear
Jane, you are really mistaken in thinking a man must be
a fool because he doesn't understand poetry." The pro-
fessor spoke testily; he was glad that Thomasine entered
the room ; she held a number of hats in her hands.

" I had quite f oi^tten 1 " cried the baroness, pushing
her cap away. " The cares of a household are beyond me I
When I ought to be composing — ^well, well, Thomasine has
completed the tenth canto, so, although she says she
doesn't need a reward, and of course she's enjoyed it, I
thought I would give her a new hat."

" A new hat ! " exclaimed the profeesor, in surprise.
"Do you care about a new hat, Thomasine!" He added:
"Well, well, I suppose it is natural. I don't remember
that you, Jane, ever cared about a new hat."

"I don't care so very much," said Thomasine, blushing,
"but my best is very old, father; there's a dreadful dent
in the brim."

"Is there! I'm sure you always look very nice, child.

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But 'tia vei7 DBtural, dear giil, rerj natural I I wonder,
Jane, has mj hat got a dent in it? "

"It has," said Eliea.

" Then why don't you take it out! " cried the profeaeor,
more than testy now, crosa.

" Pray, where am I to begin ? " retorted Elisa. " Tour
hat, professor, looks like the orumply paper thQ' make
lamp shades of I"

"Eliza, go awayt Tou can't really want me," inter-
posed the poor baroness.

" Oh, certainly, if I am em-power-ed," replied the maid,
" to tell the cheesemonger exactly what I think of him ! "

" 111 come," said her mistress, sighing heavily. " We
can't change our cheesemonger again. Wait a minute
with those hats, Thomasine. Ah, met I wrote only yester-
day evening:

Thomasine remained standing in the middle of the
room, hung about with ribbons and feathers, like a Hay-
pole.

" Eliza," said the professor nteditatively, " is an admir-
able servant, but it is a pity that the number of trades-
people in Leyden is limited."

" Tou have a letter from Edward! " replied Thomasine.

" Yes, poor feUow I The operation is fixed for the day
after to-morrow. It is an immensely interesting event.
I understand absolutely nothing of psychiatry; we are
miles apart, but I can see this ia an event of overwhelming
interest, Thomasine,"

"I always knew Edward would find his work," said
Thomasine.

The profeesor looked at her affectionately. " Wo men
are what our women make us," he said. Thomasine bid
suddenly behind the biggest hat. " Sometimes the reward

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of half a lifetime drops quite unexpectedly, from nowhere,
at onr feet. Those hate," he continued timidly, " do not
look to me quite the latest fashion? Do you feel sure
they are?"

" Dear papa, I suppose so," said the troubled Thomasme.

"I fancy I saw quite different ones at The Hague the
other day," the professor persisted knowingly. "Leyden
is hardly the place, I should think, to buy a fashionable
hat in. Paris — Paris is the place for hats, Thomasine I "
The professor, flinging back his dusty mane, gazed argu-
mentatively at his daughter.

" Tee, papa. I suppose bo I " said Thomasine.

" What would you say to our starting for Paris to-
gether, and buying a hat!" cried the professor; "buying
a couple of hate!"

" Papa, you are jokingl "

"I never joke, child. People who deal in microbes
don't. Life becomes too serious for a joke. But they
can enjoy themselves."

"Tou would, in Paris."

" I don't know. I enjoyed myself when I developed the
PseudO'Semicclon Cryptophyllns Comma 2 out of the
Comma Communis HeushnysiL That was a great dis-
covery, Thomasine."

"It was," said his daughter.

" And you were a dear girl to read np all about it. I
really have sometimes believed that, in the end, you al-
most understood." The professor i>aused. "Tes, you
shall go to Paris. I shall be delighted to see Edward's
operation. And your mother, of course, will accompany
UB. Laura is in Paris. Your mother does not approve."

"But will all that not coat a great deal of money!"
questioned Thomasine.

" Tour Uncle Frank says we may spend more money,"
replied the professor, rubbing his hands. " We are going
to have more money I "

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"Oh, how delicious 1" cried the giri. "O papa, a
great man like yon ought to get thousandB from the
itatel"

" That IB what I always aay," remarked the baroneea.
"What on earth doee it matter whether cheese costs
threepence or threepence-halfpenny! Contemptible 1 Souls
like Elisa's consider the price of cbeeee the end of ex-
iatence. There ought to be no cheese in your father's
life."

" There ia not. I never touch it," said the professor.

" You are so literal, Thomas. How did you ever come
to marry a poetess ! Your cheese is Baidwyk — the upkeep
of that big place where we only spend the summer holi-
days,"

" My home," said the baron.

His wife sbrogged her shoulderB. "Certainly, and I
would not sell an oak of it I But what I regret ia that
your enormous science does hot bring you in a proper
reward 1 Other — dabblers run off with ten thousand dol-
lar pieces, or they lend their names to patent screws or
foods or pots" (the professor tingled to his toes), "but
you — what do th^ give yout Gold medals 1 Cupboards
fulL"

" And orden," said Thomasine.

"And which of his orders doee your father care for!"
cried the baroness.

" St. John of Jerusalem," said the baron, " The Succor
of the Wounded, and the Cross I gained at Gravelotte."
For this subject, to which allusions were forbidden in the
family circle, thus suddenly crops up here. In 1870 the
baron — ^though " not a fighting man," as the colonel saya
—had insisted on accompanying the Dutch ambulance;
and good fortune, as he put it, had enabled him to save a
wounded Bayarian general, imder heavy artillery fire.
But never mind that!

"I must be off to my lecture!" exclaimed the baron.
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" Good Heavens 1 1 forsot about Pane. We diall start to*
morrow morning. Tell your mother, Thomasine I "

Thomaeine had expected thiB sudden decision to agi-
tate the baroneea, but not to the degree nor in the manner
it did. That lady refused, however, to afford any other
explanation of her eager approval than eould be found in
the natural deaite to see Edward. "Laura's presence in
Paris 1" she said. "Pooh I nonsense 1 Miss Laura must
look after herself. Besides, Edward writes that she is
staying with a charitable Scotch lady, whose work among
butchers would interest me greatly. I shall certainly go
and have a look at it, though I don't see the use of con-
verting butchers. The most converted bntcher that ever
was bom wouldn't be honest about bonee. It isn't in
nature. Our lost butcher was an elder, and yon should
hear the way Eliza says he behaved about the fat I
Kot that I care tuppence about bonee and fat — ^the
disgusting things," adds the baroness peevishly. " I shall
be heartily glad to get rid of it all in Paris, where they
cat up their dead cattle smalL There are no tiresome
joints in a French cow, Thomasine, and what isn't beef-
steak in its body is chiefly trotters and tripel "

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CHAPTER Xm

Oh the moimng of the operation the four ladicB sat,
avoiding each other's glances, in the siloit sitting room
at the hotel, left behind, as women aie, with their piayera,
when the men are gone forth to act. The preeence of the
stranger, Miss MacOlacblin, made it easier for the baron*
eas to sit there with Laura. £ach lady was endeavoring
to divert her own thoughts in a congenial manner. I^ura,
at a side table, was spreading out playing cards, entirely
incredulous, aa she truthfully averred, yet absorbed-
Maria ICacClacblin sat laboring to make sense of her
Scottish agent's account sheets, the one thing on earth
she felt certain she couldn't do. The baroness, with much
writing paper all about her, composed yards (hardly
meters) of ode to Hygeia, almoet too nervous for rhyme
and far too nervous for reason. Thomasine sotted her
brother's notes and correspondence anent the great mat-
ter in hand. There was a good deal to sort; he had,
indeed, not skated, as the Dutch say, " over the ice of a
single night"

" I hope you don't object to this sort of thing I " said
Laura, suddenly, to the baroness. She swept all her cards
together and began laying them out again. " I don't be-
lieve in it, of course I "

"Daughter of gods and nurse of men — Oh, no, I
don't object," replied the baroness, with pen uplifted.

"I think it is sinful," remarked Maria MacClachlin,
looking away from her lines of figures. "I dielike the
word ' sin,' but I think that is dnful."

" Oh, no, it can't be sinful," answered Laura quickly,
"for sinful is doing what you like."
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" Throw your cards into the fiiel "

" That's what you would like to do with those papers
of yours, and that would be sliiful," said Laura mis-
chievoualy.

Ifiaa UacCkchliu had adToxced to the little card table.
"Gomel" she said, and swept half the pack off in one
fell BWoop.

Laura rose in agitation. "No I not I don't believe in
it, but you needn't tempt the fates t "

" The fates I " cried Maria MaoClachlin in horror.

"The powers of evil, whatever you like to call them.
The malign forces that influence our livee."

"Were you ever baptized!" cried If aria UacOlachlin.

" No," said I<aura. All the other women uttered ex-
clamations. " My father," added the girl hastily, " said
it was a mockery, if nobody intended to keep the promises
they made."

" Surely, mother, that is true," put in Thomasine, whose
exclamation had been pity only.

" Don't bum those cards! " was the baroness's sole reply.
She spoke peremptorily. She also had risen. " I agree
with Laura," she said. " I don't know about cartomancy,
and I should enjoy a game of whist, if I could remember
trumps, but there is some connection between the devil's
picture book and the devil, and, as Laura says, though we
don't want hie assistance, we— we needn't insult him at
-this moment." She glanced at the clock — "we may as
well have him neutral, if wo can. Miss MacClachlin."

" Amwiiing I " said Maria, and laid the cards down. " It
is as if I heard my old nurse Nannie, who believes in
kelpies and all sorts of monsters, that damage your har-
vests and sprain your wrists."

" And has the second sight 1 " exclaimed Laura, " and

could see perhaps this very moment what is happening at

Auteuil I " She began pacing up and down the room.

"If I only had thati If I only had thati" she said.

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"It's SB uncertain with lier ae it is wiih youl" an-
swered Miss MacCIachlin, but with less aplomb.

"You cannot deny that she hae it — that she saw, at
your home in Scotland, when yon were ill here in
bed!"

"N-n-no," said Misa MacClachlui.

"With a bandage round yonr head, mind yoat"

"I admit the bandage."

"It proves there are epirits," said Laura.

" O Laura I " cried Thomasine. " Surely it only provee
that we don't know all about our souls that the doctors
think they do."

Before Laura could answer, the baroness, who had re-
tired into the adjoming bedroom, called to her daughter
in a voice which caused the latter to hasten to her side.

" Thomasinel " said the baroness, " a terrible thing has
happened t "

The baroness was quite pale; she steadied henelf, trem-
bling, agaiust the mantelpiece.

" Hamma I " cried Thomaaine, alarmed.

"Hush, don't let the otheia hear us! My daughter, I
will tell you alL" And, hoarse with agitation, trembling
there, she hurried on: "You may laugh at me, if you
like — of course you will laugh at me. Laura is right:
there are powers of evil. And — and protecting spirits.
The Bible says so. That Scotchwoman talks about her
Kannie — 1^ old nurse in Brabant — ^well, yee, she was a
papist, as you know, a pious papist. We call them papists,
Thomasine, but Catholics is the right word. They are the
oldest Church; there must be things th^ know bett«r
than we. Never mind that, now; but ray old nurse — she
was a very pious woman — very pious and wise, and we
never get quite away from our childish associations. She
— she taught me my grace, that I still s^, mechanically,
I fear, before meals. Well, of course, I taught you Prot-
estant ones; but, but I certainly never suffered from in-
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digeation, as 7our father does. And she taught me a
charm, I say, and things have often come right, I can
assure yoiL And I have so man; troubles in my house-
hold, and Fve said that charm in my own room, crying,
when Eliza's been contrary, and she's come and said she
was Borry, and you know, Thomasine, it's only a miracle
could make Eliza say that I And when she was dying —
nurse, I mean — she sent for me, and she gave me the
little image of the Virgin and Child off her poor old
wasted neck, and she bade me wear it and give it to
my son, if ever I had one, when be started on his career.
I knew what it had done for her; she'd often told me
about it, when I was a baby. And I didn't wear it —
though I'd promised, you see — being a Protestant. But I
didn't like not keeping my promise, and the day I put
it on at last I wrote my letter to your father. And — and
he married me, as you know, and all my happiness dates
from then. And though you can't reason about it, and
I know it sounds absurd, it has often helped me and pro-
tected me. I can't reason about it, but Tve proof, heaps
of proof I I sewed it into your father's coat — he never
noticed — ^when he made his great speech in Parliament on
Sanitation, that woiild have been such a success if they'd
only known what sanitation meant. And — and, oh, lota
of times I When I heard about this operation, I wanted
so to give Edward my little image, and I couldn't; and
tiien came suddenly this wonderful idea of your father's.
It seemed like a voice from heaven, and I packed it up
this morning with a note for Edward, and I gave it to
your father, most particularly, to take to him; and oh,
Thomasine, there it liesl " 8he pointed to a small parcel
on the toilet table, and burst into tears.

" Did papa know! " asked Thomasine, seeking for some-
thing to say.

" No — oh, no ! He wouldn't understand, Tom father

ia very religious, but it's a man's religion. No— no hora

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d'vuvret. The solid meat, plain, and aa little aa poeeible
oi that I am a woman, Tbomasine, 011I7 a womaul;
woman. If I had been a man, I should have been bo
different from what I ami I must have m; leligiona
kickebawB and my poeti?. When I read aU my Stranss
and Plato, I eoon saw I must have my poetry as well.
Bat, oh, it's no use talking I" — she stamped her foot in
her anxiety — " Fve had proof all my life that my Virgin
and Child brings us good fortune That's not cards and
tricks, like Laura's, but it's religion, our Cbristian re-
ligion; and now, at the decisive moment of Edward's
career, weVe left them lying n^lected tbeiel "

"Oh, don't cry, mammal" faltered Thomasine, still
seeking.

The baroness looked at her quickly.

"Do you want your mother to be wiser," she said,
" than the greatest king France ever had I "

" He — he was some — time ago," answered Thomasine.

"But not before the Christian religion 1 And he was
aa pious aa he was wise. Or do you think the Christian
religion has gone on improving since Christ t I have
written a poem . on Louia XI. Oh, why do we stand
arguing here — and time flying— and Edward hasn't got it 1
We've insulted itl we've n^lected it I— oh I oh I oh! "

Thomasine glanoed at the clock.

" It is ten minutes past eleven," she said. " They can
hardly have begun yet."

" But Auteuil is miles from here I And we don't know
the way."

"I will try," said Thomasine. "I can find the way.
And, oh, at any rate," she rigidly checked a smile, "the
Virgin will see, even if I am too late, that we are treating
hei with proper respect."

"Ton might ask Uiss Mac-what's-her-name to go with
you. She fci^ows Paris."

" Better not, mamma. She would ask qoeetionfi."
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" You are aahamed of me," said the baroness contritel;.

"Oh, mamioa, don't say such a thing 1 Of course, it's
Tery new to me. I tbougbt you were as good a Protes-
tant as any of ua."

" It's the Virgin and Child," said the baroness. Thom-
asine was already getting her things. "But, reason aa
you may, I've all my experiences to pit against you.
I don't defend myself. I sent you and your sisters to
Genera on purpose; ererything'a Galvinistie there. But
my youth was spent with a dear old nurse, who taught
me that our Htcs are full of saints and deyila; and I
can't get away from that."

"Haye you some French money for met" said Tbom-
asine.

Her mother gave it her with a fervent kiss. ." Child,"
said the baroness, "you are so like your father! I am
glad I called you aft«r him. That is another Inystery;
we are like the people they call us after. Tea, you think
of others; I try to. I love you dearly, Thomasine. I
wish I could be more for my cbildr^i, but I — I don't
know how, I am glad, however, to have you associated
with me in n^ work. You are interested — are you not,
dear?— in ' Balaam' t "

" Yes, indeed," said Thomasine, already in the passage.
With the aid of the hotel porter she obtained a cabman,
who agreed, for twice the legal fare, to convey her out to
Auteuil, and, less than half an hour later, having seen
him drive off, vociferating, with three times that fare in
his pocket, she nervously pushed open the gilt grUte of the
Etablissement Ducrot. It was the cabman, not her er-
rand, that had made her nervous. Like her parents, she
detested money squabbles, and was entirely unaccustomed
to them.

The wintry garden of the 4tablissement looked chill
and deserted. The open-air cure bad not yet been In-
vented, and no one, therefore, was sitting or lying in the
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sodden pathways or on the steaming lavns. A dull gray
sky hung heavy againBt the black tracery of the trees.
The bright snow of the Leyden gables seemed many weeks

" La-hae, au fond I" said a white-aproned man with a
broom. She found, picking her way through the damp,
the little side gate, the tall cluster of trees, the half-hid-
den villa. The line of windows, between their shutters,
stared at her, repellent. Nothing stirred. Behind those
windoira, somewhere, the tragedy was enacting. She
passed up the few steps to the perron — her walk and her
touch were ever of the softest — and rang, perhaps a little
timidly. Nothing responded, but through the glass door
that stood ajar, she heard the long murmur of a voice.
She felt there was no time to be lost, and pushed on in
the direction of the murmur. The door at the end of the
hall — it was that of the small dining room — stood open.
Thomasine stood aghast. The murmur was not a mur-
mur but a smothered cry.

A man lay on his knees, in the gloom of brown wain-
scoting, against a divan. His face was hidden; his arms
and hands were entangled among cushions before it.
From hidden depths of suffering broke forth that half-
stifled cry.

Thomasine had never before seen or heard a layman
pray; only her father's formal reading, of mornings. She
trembled and grew crimson, as if she had stumbled on
physical nudity. She turned to fly, but as she turned he
lifted his head and saw her.

He was on his feet in an iostant, fairly composed, his
attitude courteous, his dark face gone pale. Even in that
moment of discomfiture she realized that she had never
seen so distinguished an attitude, so hauntingly exquisite

am anxious to speak to Dr. Lisse," she said quickly.

n his sister. If he has not yet begun "

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"Ha has begun," said Kenneth, in a broken voice,
"and I am Eenneth Oraye."

Thfi agony that bore down Ma attempt at reserve was
too manifest. And the position, in spite of its embarrass-
ment, came not unnaturally to Thomasine, accustomed,
l^ much parish work at Leyden, to sympathy with all sorts
of diatresB. Yet we all know bow easy it ia to sympathize
with the indigent.

"Ia it — " he stammered, "it muat be — something of
Teiy great importance that makes you want to speak to
him juat now."

"Yes," she said, "but, of course, now he has begun I
oannot disturb him."

" He has begun," repeated Kenneth, and be sank down
again, seated on the divan, resting his head against his
hands. " They are busy at this moment. They have been
at it for hours and hours." His haggard ^es sought the
timepiece — " Twenty minutes I They are busy. Do yoii
hear anything!" He went to the door. "Hush! Didn't
you hear a cry? Hush I I fancy I hear one all the time.
Deep down in the cushions, I hear them most. They are
busy over yonder on the other side, behind that door.
People cry out, in spite of chloroform — don't theyf But
I suppose you don't know. I wonder if people cry out
in spite of chloroform t"

"Yes, they cry out," said Thomasine, "sometimes; but
they don't feel anything."

"How do the doctors know that!" His own was al-
most a cry. " Because the patient doesn't remember when
be wakes! But perhaps the chloroform only kills the
memory, not the pain. They say James always felt pain,
though he couldn't tell about it 1 My Ood 1 "

He tried to steady himself. " You see," he said apolo-
getically, " it's a matt«r of life and death, and I had to
decide about it, all by myself, his unde. Perhaps he's
dead already. How very quiet they are."
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Thomaauie hesitated whether to go or stay. And then
she decided to aak him, quite simply, this stranger with
the kindl;, grief-drawn face.

" Shall I wait for my brother, or shall I go ) " she said.
He could always indicate his inclination by offering her
another room.

"When you found me, I was trying to pray," he an-
swered abruptly. " We men don't know mnch, as a rule,
about praying. I think, if there were prayers going on
in this house" — again he paused to listen — " You remem-
ber that beautiful story in the Bible about Hoses. Can
you pray?"

" Yes," said Thomasine Lisse very gently. " Everyone

He looked at her. "I don't believe," he said, "in
prayer-book prayers."

Thomasine, amid her Calvinistic surroundings, had
never heard of written supplications. "They always
Bound to me," continued Kenneth, " as if you were
praying for some one else." He walked back from the
door to the clock. "Oh, my God I" he said, quite
low. And that, certainly, was a prayer. At that mo-
Toaat some sort of sound, indefinable, unmistakably
reached them from behind the wall at the other side of
the passage; to both, whether rightly or wrongly, it
shaped itself as a suppressed scream. Kenneth shud-
dered, and, sinking down by his cushions: "You are a
woman," he said, "and, by your face, a good onel
Pray I"

Thomasine knelt against the table, hiding out of sight
in her muff. In the long, long silence that followed, a
thoughtful, breathing silence, listening, holding its breath,
amid tlie solemn yearnings of the silence the two stranger
souls in the little back room held unrealised communion
with each other in God.

" I can't endure it t " cried Kenneth suddenly, and his
1B4

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THE HEALEES

voice sounded horribly loud. "What's the use of pray-
ing — prying? With the whole world going wrong? Per-
haps we pray wrong — ask the wrong thing and get it for
the asking. Does that account for all the misery t No,
no; there's plenty of misery without praying. And,
what's worse, I don't know what to ask I I don't want
the operation to ' succeed,' whatever that may signify — I
mean, not from their medical point of view. What I
vant is James's good — that only. I want him to be
happier, liappier, I don't care how. Even if he dies.
But when I say that, a lot of horrible thoughts crop up
that I couldn't repeat aloud — that people will say that
I jumped at the operation as a means to get rid of him,
' and — and — and they swamp my prayers. My God, will
this never end? They've been busy an hour. I — ^I —
What do you say to God when you speak to Him? I —
I want to ask the right thing. Would you very much
mind showing me how ) "

Thomasine Lisse, who had risen aa he commem^
speaking, once more sank to her knees. " Our Father in
heaven," she said f alteringly, " our Father — our Father
in heaven, help ust And guide the hands of these men
in all they are doing! And have mercy on the soul — and
the body — of James Graye t "

"Have mercy," he repeated, hie voice steadying to the
words as be spoke them, " on the soul — and the body — of
James Graye."

Thus she stayed till the distant door flung open, and
all the doctors came out together.

"It has succeeded — so far," said Edward X<isse. His
square young face bad lost most of its natural ruddinera,
' but the blue eyes shone with a tranquil light. He came
out, straight and taU, fair-haired and foreign, among the
quick Parisian doctors, clever and keen. The professor
lagged behind. "He — he — ^howf" Kenneth spoke to
Edward only.

II 16S

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THE HEALEBS

"It is marveloual marveloua I " cried Dr. Daciot.
"Met compUmenls, man cker confrere!"

" He lives," eaid Edward. " My sister I " he added, dis-
tressed. A young French doctor had run forward. Ken-
neth, ;et quicker than he, had caught Thomasine aa she
swayed, and deposited her gently on the divan. "It ia
my fault," he said in English. " I behaved like a selfish
bnite." He ran to the sideboard for water. "I am all
right; I never fainted in my life," gasped Thomasine.
Then the room went round, in a whirl of interested doc-
tor's faces, and the profeesor's voice inquired through
dorkneM, "Whatever is my daughter Thomaaine doing
here I"

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XIV

" So it looked very riaky at firet," aaid the baroness, and
she nodded to Thomasine. " But afterwards it went
much better."

"Yea," replied the professor, "Edward's diagnosis baa
certainly been wonderfully correct; the brain was
cramped, compressed, as a hand might be squeezed into a
jug. They must widen the skull now — an awful thing."

"Just so," said the baroness, still nodding to her
daughter ; " but afterwards it went all right."

" Will he be like other people, father! "

"No, child, how can he? True, you haven't seen him.
We shall find out in time. It la interesting, most inter-
esting, quite new to me. But your mother's sending you
to hear how things were going on was—" he paused.

"WelU" said the baroness apprehensively.

"Quite right, dear Jane, of course, but just a little
hard on Thomasiue."

"Thomasine tells me she is very glad she went. She
was able to amuse the poor uncle meanwhile."

" Not amuse, mamma — occupy." Thomasine walked
away to welcome Laura, in a pale-cream dinner gown.
"What lovely clothes you havel" she said.

"Was there an uncle t Oh, yea, the dark young man I
I didn't observe him," answered the professor.

" I got them at Brussels. I like to wear nice clothes,"
said Laura.

"Here comes the hero of the hourl" exclaimed the

baroness, as Edward entered. She solemnly advanced and

placed a homemade wreath of laurels on Edward's yellow

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THE EEALEES

head. They vete dining together in their hotel sitting
room, and so the little party was complete.

" He looks much more like an Olympian winner in diees
clothes than anything else," said Thomasine.

Laura's eyes were on her lover, but she said nothing.
" 2Iay I take it oBi " said the lover himself.

" Yes," replied his mother, " but you must put it on
again at dessert, when I recite you my ode to Hygeia.
Tou are introduced as her priest."

The professor, in an anxious aside to Thomasine,
pointed out that j3llBculapius would have been more cor-
rect, as Edward, if anything, wae a priest of healing, and
be, the professor, a priest of health. " But don't mention
it to your mother for worlds," he added.

" Now, Edward, tell us all your great men said."

"My great men all spoke of my father's greatness,"
answered Edward.

And so the dinner began and progressed under the
most favorable auspices. It was not till dessert that the
sudden sorrow fell.

The baroness was standing erect over the mandarins
and champagne, declaiming to the laureled — and miserable
— Edward, when the hotel porter knocked and produced
the tel^ram. " A reply from your uncle. How quick of
him," said the professor. Edward had torn off the
wreath.

The baroness stood, paper in hand. "Now, surely his
telegram can wait," she said.

But the baron had already opened it and was reading
it aloud:

" Had inlniDdeiifaN>dAbimhsiim' wire. PamSnap; rubber also ;bnt
It appean we had played for a faU. Od« handrod thoiuand raqolred
for cover. Jfire immediate iiutructioiu. — Fbanoib."

" What does it mean t " asked the baron, instinctively
holding out the missive to his son.

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THE HEALEK8

" It means ruin," said the baronees, and she sank to the
table, crushing her ode among the laurel leaves. "It
means that 70U must send Fiancis Lisse a hundred
thousand francs or florins — ^what does it matter I — to
squander, as be has already probably squandered the
reat."

" Has Uncle Francis got your money iu his hands, dear
father!" asked Edward.

" Yes, my boy. I — I know nothing about money mat-
ters. He was taking very good care of it. He told me,
only the other day, how well things were going. That
is why we came here,"

" Edward I " cried the baroness passionately, striking the
blue paper with one hand. " Understand this 1 Explain I "

" I think I can do tbat," he answered, and be told the
eager group of listeners at least what the words of the

"I must give him this hundred thousand at once)"
said the professor.

" Or the man Abrahams will doubtleSB sell," replied Ed-
ward. "How much loBB that may entail we cannot
guess."

" I don't know," said the professor; " but one thing I do
know; there is only one means of meeting further de-
mands."

" No ! " cried the baroness.

" My dear, why do yon say, ' no,' when it is ' yes ' ! "

"Not that means, anything but that! — ^Edward, he al-
ludes to the sale of Bardwykl"

All of them were silent. At last Thomasine said, " We
can easily spend the holidays somewhere else."

The baroness was watching her future daughter-in-law.
She bad got to acquiesce in Lauia, but she now wondered
how this adventuress — that fact could hardly be denied —
would take the fact of financial and consequently social
ruin. Perchance this ill wind would blow Edward release

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THE HEALERS

from unconeenial bonds. Meanwhile Laara sat g&ziiig
down at her plate, splitting, carefully, mandarin pipa.

" Edward 1" said the poor professor. " Edward 1 Ed-
ward 1 " His eon went round the table and put an arm
round hie neck and kissed him on the forehead. " I don't
want Bardwyk," said Edward : " you have given me a
better inheritance than that." Laura looked up quickly.
" His name," said Edward, gazing straight into her eyes.
It was then that the baroness, in a voice broken by pas-
sionate weeping, her head against her husband's shoulder,
her cap slipping off, broke into that brief improvisation,
the only thing of hers which will ever live a little, the
fairly well-known:

" All hkil, hereditary lords !
That hold yoDT flef of pnreuid IoKtsodI
By daily testa of virtae [ "

" Hush 1 bush ! " murmured the professor, wiping his
eyes with the back of the fateful telegram.

While they were discussing the cataBtrophe and trying
to fathom it, a second messenger arrived, illuminating
whatever in the situation might still remain obscure.

Lms three hon-

"That," said Edward, "is plain enough."

" All but the recovery," said the baroness.

"A hundred thousand florins is not an incalculable
sum," remarked Laura, speaking suddenly.

The remark was unfortunate, imder the trying circum-
stances, in the baroness's ears. "People who have never
had the administration of money, my dear" — she was a
woman, so she said "my dear"; she was a good woman,
so she said it undesignedly — " always form a very er-
roneous conception of the relative value of a

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THE HEAIEES

Laura anavered nothing, but retnmed to her chipping
of pips. The click-click exasperated the baroness.

" Where 18 the firet telegram ? " asked the b&rouees
tartly.

Her husband, having mechanically pushed it into his
breast pocket, drew out a bundle of loose papers and let-
ters to look for it. As he turned ihesa over with unsteady
fingers a visiting card dropped from among the rest and
fell on the table. He looked down at it and recognixed
it; he had not seen the thing since be thrust it out of
sight two days ago. It was the card bearing Ur. Bitter-
bol's address. He realized with painful distinctness at
once that here was the means of salvation. For he knew
the world of hygienic food fads, and he could not doubt
one moment that, the enormous outlay for advertisements
being guaranteed, such a well-organized swindle as this
was quite certain of success. All that was needed was his
hall-mark, so to speak, on the patent sucker. How many
of his colleagues had done that sort of thing, were doing
it every day! What an easy way of preserving and of
beautifying the old home ! "It means thousands," had
said Mr. Bitterbol, in leaving; of course it did. The
baron remembered palatial buildings, seen in varione
places, almost always belonging to the proprietor of some
sort of patent bosh. He had never needed thousands, but
he wanted them now. " I am a poor man; my future is
in your hands," had said Mr. Bitterbol. The baron, then,
could commit a generous action, a righteous action, and
Edward would be lord of a fairer Bardwyk. All this
passed quickly enough through his brain, as be sat star-
ing down at the card on the table. The address was
turned away from him; he had not yet seen it; he had
no idea where the man lived; he had forgotten his name.
The baroness, with the automatic curiosity of her sex,
reached to take the bit of pasteboard. "Whose card is
this) " she said; " Charcot's? Pasteur's! " He snatched
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THE HEALERS

it from her; he enatehed, and from her. She stared at
him aghast.

The professor was holding the card in one of the can-
dles on the dinner table, where it made a nasty smoke
and Bmell. He flung the charred remaios on a plate, and
drew a deep breath. " I don't know whose the card was,
and now I never Bhall," he said. They were all far too
inqtressed by his great intellect to imagine it could be
clouded for a moment. So they only looked uncomfort-
ably at each other. " These touts outside the hoteU," said
Edward, " ought to be stopped by the police."

"Why!" asked Thomasine.

"They tout for the muGic halls," answered Edward,
"and music halls are very wicked places."

" I know that;" said Thomasine.

" There are none at Bardwyk," said Laura. And again
the remark was ill chosen ; for it called up before the eyes
of all her four hearers, with the sounds of the boulevard
outside, the peaceful Dutch home in the simple green
village, the stately square house amid its ancestral meads.
Laura, the stranger, had never seen Bardwyk; what could
it be to her ) She had been thinking of its repose, of its
dignity, as things most desirable, and that is why she
had spoken. But the baroness only answered dryly, " No."

"The dear old placet" said Thomasine.

"We must reply to the teUs^am," said Edward. He,
the heir, was longing to ask them not to mention Bardwyk
again, but Edward had from bis father that almost ex-
travagant dread of hurting the feelings of others.

" Will this money, this hundred thousand, save the
situation! " demanded Laura. She had left her place and
begun walking up and down the room, again to the an-
noyance of the baroness; although really, if Laura did
anything well, it was walking. She reiterated her ques-
tion, stopping short

" I think it would," said the professor. " At any rate it

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THE HEALEES

vould save Eardwyk. We could settle up. I should
retire."

"Th^ must have it, then," said Laura.

Nobody answered her, till the baronees began: "tiy
dear, as I was saying, people unaccustomed "

" They must have it, I will give it thran ! " cried Laura.

" You i " She heard Edward alone.

" Yes, dear one. I — I — I ! " She Btood for one moment
looking at him, then suddenly she tore open the lace front
of her loose dinner gown, literally rending the flimsy
material asunder in her haste, and loosening, with fevered
bands, a broad, soft-leather little bag that lay flat under
her bosom, she scattered its contents in a shower of
crumpled papers across the table, over the floor. She
stood there pouring them forth, as it were, from her very
bicast, pouring them out, with eyes streaming, toward
him in the eager abandonment of her beautiful arms;
pouring them out toward her lover. " They are mine 1
They are mine I" she repeated, "to give to you; I
give them to you, dearest 1 They are mine I They are

She stopped at last exhausted, her dress all in disorder
about her bosom, her face flaming, her hands limp. He
was by her side ; he had drawn her close ; in the presence
of the other Lisses he was murmuring broken words of
^idearment and of wonder; and everywhere around them
lay bank notes, bank notes on table and floor.

"There is more than a hundred thousand," sobbed
Laura ; " a great deal more."

"And it is yours! " exclaimed the baron.

The baroness only said, " Laura Baleyne, I entreat you
to forgive me t " But this caused Laura to cry so much
more that the fat little great lady had to step off her
chair and Idss the Sumatran in Edward's arms. Then
they all set to gathering up the bank notes, Dutch and
ioreigm, each of them for so huge an amount, especially
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......Xoogic ^ I

THE HEALERS

the English onee, that tlie pocket was onlj a thin one
when flattened out, in the end, upon the table.

" And you carry this enormous fortune about vith
70U I " exclaimed the professor.

" In a bundle ! " cried hie wife.

"In three Beparate onee," wept Laura; "and Vm so
thin it doesn't show." Then ahe stopped crying. "My
own father wished it to be so," she said. " If yon don't
much mind, I should like to have a little talk with
Edward."

The others, bewildered by what was befalling them, left
the lovers alone.

" Edward," she said, sitting down while he stood beside
her, "I am glad this has happened, and sorry. You
mustn't mind." She placed one finger on the pile of bank
notes. " The mon^ is mine, and it isn't mine."

" O Laura I " Then he waited.

"I will tell you alL It is a long story. Yon must
listen. I would rather not have told you. It is a painful
story."

"Dearest, aurely we should have no secrets from each
other."

"Yes, I know; that is what people say. But when the
secret is a third person's, I am not so sure. However,
now there is no choice. My — my mother left my father.
She ran away." There was a long pause; Laura, her
eyes on her hands, blush after blush mantling her south-
em skin, was evidently trying to master the emotion in
her throat.

He stooped and took the hands in his own and kissed
them. He did not speak.

" She left her money behind her; he had it. From the
day she ran away she disappeared; he never heard of her
again. He could not trace her. He would not touch her
mon^; he said they were divorced. It was bers again.
80 it accumulated — it doubled. One day, a couple of
164

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THE HEALEB8

years ago, we received a letter from a lawyer in America
Baying she had died there, and incloBing a certificate of
her death. That was all we ever heard." Again ehe hesi-
tated. He pressed the band be held.

"When my father waa dying, not long aft«^ quite
toward the end, he — he told me all about this monoy, and
he gave me all of it, like that, just as I have given it to
yon. He had sent for it from the bank, sold out — ^wbat
do you call it} — ^when he knew be was going to — not to
get better. He told me be had sold the — the investments,
because I, not being of age, there would be so much legal
trouble about every form of having it but bank notes. Do
you understand t "

"Perfectly," aaid Edward. "In India, especially, they
would have made you a government ward."

"It's all right, if you understand," said Laura con-
tentedly. " So father told me to take the money with me
to Europe, and to keep it by me, and never speak of
it to anyone. 'For, if you once give it to another
person,' he said, ' a banker, or anyone else, they won't
allow you to have it back.' He was very nervous and
very ill in his terrible fever. I don't know if be was
right."

" He was certainly correct," replied Edward cantionely.

" So I put all the money in slips in a bag fitting just
round here, and I wore it day and night."

" Night ! What a risk I " said Edward, partly to him-
self, terrified at the thought of possibilities. " How could
you sleep a wink with such a breastplate as that t "

"It wasn't comfortable," she answered, "but, you see,
father said it was the only way. Oh, you mean thievesl
I never thought of thieves. I never heard of anybody
being robbed. Did you? And, as for that, banks fail,
don't they? and companies go to smash. Oh, I never was
afraid of thievesl"

" But, at any rate, the money is yours, dear — only, not
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THE HEALERS

beins of age, the? would not allow som to have it. But
it's youra."

She turned the full gaze of her lustious ejiee upon
him; there was such a weird light in them that he could
hardly, with his own claar blue oaes, encounter it. " Sow
that," she said, " is just what I wanted to tell you, only
it is BO difficult. You will laugh at me, as you have
laughed before." She took both his bands^ as he had
taken hers. "Don't laugh at mel" she said piteously.
" It is so difficult to t«ll you, and I must. I do not be-
lieve that my mother is dead." Her voice had dropped
to a whisper. Bending down, he Just caught the words.

" But you had the certificate," he said.

"Tee; I don't care about the certificate. She has
spoken to me bo often Binca, and told me not to be-
lieve it."

"Spoken to yout But who sent it, theni"

" She speaks in my sleep, my trance— call it what yon
like. She doesn't speak — she jnudee my pencil ; she writes
— she writes many things. I do not always nndentand
th^n alL Now laugh t "

"Laura, you must never say that to me again. I
never laughed through my father's illncsB, least of all
have I langhed to-day. Who told you how James Graye
felt, when all his life he had been unable to tell anyone ! "

" She first began speaking to me after my father's
death," continued Laura. " She told me that she had sent
him the certificate and the letter because she wished him
to be f re& Now, bow could I ever have imagined that I "

"I do not affirm that you imagined it. You mustn't
mind my confessing to yon that I am not prepared as yet
to believe in direct communication between mortals and
a ' spirit ' world, but the possibility of some form of te-
lepathy we acientists can hardly any longer deny."

" Then you see that my mother is alive 1 " she cried
joyfully; "you see that. You say she is alivel"

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THE HEALERS

" If she speaks to you, she must certainly be alive."

Her face fell.

" Honestly," be added, " you must give me time."

" The money is here, for she lives," persisted Laura
doggedly, "but- she bas always told me to use it, when
an emei^ncy came, and therefore it ia mine."

" The emergency baa come, certainly," he replied, look-
ing away to the pile of bank notes. " All the . same,
the money being yours does not make it ours." She
put her hand across his mouth. "Xov I have told you
all," she said, " take me home. I am very tired, Edward,
and you must be almost dead."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

CHAPTER XV

Nbxt moTning Edward, having spent an almost sleep-
less night, and held a brief consultation in the morning
with his father (who had slept on Jenkins's pills), tele-
graphed to Uncle Francis that he must come over to Paris
immediately to elucidate his transactions. The answer
soon arrived that the colonel had started, bringing Ur.
Abrahams along with him.

Before that answer reached the hotel Edward had,
however, departed to see his patient. There was an im-
portant consultation at ten. The operation, as has been
said, had been completely successful. The patient was
in imminent danger.

After the departure of the other great doctors — of the
great doctors, rather, for Edward was by no means a
great doctor as yet — the young man, his whole heart one
mais of burning anxiety for his patient and worry for
his parents, remained alone with Kenneth Qraye. Ken-
neth, for the moment, was not good company. He had
fallen into a moody stupor, repeating to himself: "What
will be, will be. Kismet. Ananke. To bear is to con-
quer our fate, and all that sort of thing. Mental
chloroform."

When Misa UacClachlin came to inquire, at daybreak,
he roused himself to tell her that some people cried out,
however much chloroform they had given them. " Which
shows," he said, " that chloroform's no good,"

" Tou've been up all night," replied Miss MacClachlin.
"As for chloroform, this morning, before Paris awoke,
more than two thousand brute beasts, shrieking for merc^.

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THE HEALEES

with horror-atruck eyes, were cruelly slaughtered at La
Villette alone I And yest«rday it was the same thing, and
to-monow it will be the same. The whole world i8 one
great death pit of torture. Are you a membeT of the
Society for the Fierention of Cruelty to Animala I "

"Yea," replied Kenneth, smiling in spite of himself.
" Does that include giving up eating meat ! "

"It ought to include buying your meat of merciful
butchers only," said ]lfias MacClachlin, with decision.
"It ought to include the Siegmund Kask, and all that
sort of thing. But it doesn't. People are so inconsistent.
I knew a woman who subscribed to the society and hunted.
The toad!"

Kenneth did not answer. "I am close on forty," said
Maria. Since Kenneth had declined her proposal, she,
from some feminine instinct of self-abaaement, rapidly
aged hereelf , " One thing I have learned about my fellow-
creatures: The masses do what they like, and the classes
do what other people do. My poor butcher boys at La
Villette hare a better time, really, than all the fine ladies
of Mayfair. But they're all wrong — all, both the cheerful
brutes and the shiny serpents. And outside them liea
Christianity, a dead letter: 'Do unto others — ' There,
there, it's veiy disheartening, and one would like a good
gulp of chloroform; only, as you say, they cry out all
the same. Meanwhile, I prefer my bellowing beeves to
the — ■ There, I won't abuse my own sort. Good-by ! "

This conversation had braced Kenneth in parts; he felt
fragmentarily more cheerful "Everybody that's worth
his salt has a bad time here below," he reflected, " salting
and getting salted. Miss MacClachlin's right. Only the
salt that has lost its savor is happy on the dunghill of
Mayfair. Look at her, away from that exquisite place
in Scotland, in the reek of La Villette I "

"What forces you have to fight against I" he said to

Edward, as they came away from the patient, moaning

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THE HEALERS

in his ferered sleep. " DiBeaee in a sick body is like the
— ^what's its name) — Hydra!"

" There are vorse forces than disease," replied Edward.

"Ifental, you meant One's own thoughts. Yes, in-
deed t"

" I was 8elf-right«ously thinking of the wickedness of
others," replied honest Edward. " Wicked men are the
worst to fight, I think. I don't understand about them.
Nature, at least, fi^ta fair."

" I don't agree with yon a bit."

"She fights according to rules; only we don't always
know them. We must find them out."

"How can you say sol That ^ows the difference of
temperament. What a big human world it is! Now, to
me Nature seems the ficklest, falsest of fo^, always strik-
ing in the dark, and the back. I don't mind fighting men.
Especially not, when it's a question of defense. I could
get my back to the wall and feel happy till I dropped. I
suppose that's my Scotch nature. Still, you Dutchmen
ought to be good at a stubborn fight."

"I was not thinking of that sort of open war," re-
plied Edward ; " I was thinking of intrigne and swindling
and fraud."

"Well, even there, I shouldn't mind. I should enjoy
acutely the thought that the swindler was getting the
worst of it. And, do yon know, I imagine, if you will
forgive me, that he would. Of course that's myAber-
donian conceit. The Jew story."

"What Jew story!"

£enneth laughed outright. "Wise men say there are
only six good stories going in the world since Adam, but
it's an immense satisfaction that there's always a man
hasn't heard all six. There was a Jew came to Aberdeen —
What is it, Barton*"

"I wonder, Mr. Graye, would Mr. Lisse mind having

just a look at Sir James!" Under Barton's impassive

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THE HEALERS

:, and hie mask, had flashed out for the last day or
two, almost ceaselessly, an anxiety which only the con-
tinuous presence of Edward could allay.

When the two men went back to the sitting room
Edward's mind was made up. Therefore be spoke sud-
denly, as we do when we break resolutely through our
reserve. " I have no one to confide in but you. And it
is part of my duty to your nephew that my mind should
keep as cool as I can manage. The worst fight awaits
me this evening, because I know nothing of the weapons."
And he told his sympathetic companion all the little he
could. They sat some time in silence, thinking it over;
at length Kenneth took the pipe from his lips.

"I owe you about aa big a debt as any man can owe
another," he said slowly. "Whether James gets better
or not, you've given all your mind to him for months,
and you've found out about his pain, and you've done
what you could, at any rate, to stop that. We won't say
any more about it just now. All right; thanks I I only
mean to point out that if there's anything you could
possibly think I might be able to do for you, I should
remain your debtor, however much it was, just the
same."

"If you could help me to understand the man's fig-
ures — " said Edward hesitatingly.

"That is just what I was thinking of, only I hardly
knew how to propose it. You see, I don't pretend to be
good for much, but I do know about finance— adminis-
tration of property, and that sort of thing. Fve had to.
Tve been looking after my nephew and his property all
this time, doing little dse. Why, I know ahnost as much
about these things as Uiss UacClachlin, which is say-
ing" — he laughed — ^"a good deaL"

" L'amie dea houchersf"

" Yes, she says she don't understand her agent's ac-
counts, and I'm sure she believes it. But she's as sharp
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aa a needle to prick a penny gone vrongl — and generous
beyond — Halloo, heie'B Dr. Ducrot 1 "

" It ie marrelous I maireloua I " cried the French doc-
tor, entering. " Mes complimenta! Encore une fou
to^tt met compUments, mon cker eollegvet"

"You are too good," answered Edward for the twen-
tieth time, if not to this collaborator — oi shall we say
confederate t — then to another.

But walking away, after an inspection of the uncon-
scious patient, across the deserted garden, with the young
Dutchman beside him, the proprietor of the Etabliase-
ment Ducrot waxed more practical.

" Un moment! " he had said to Edward on the perron.
Th^ strolled slowly between the leafless ehmbs and the
clumps of rhododendron. The fat man with the bulging
frock coat squinted down at his rosette. "If this thing
succeeds," be said, " if you can make this English Sir talk
somewhat, show a little more sense than before, your
reputation is established. Honors will come to you fast."

" My first thought is to ease his pain," replied Edward.
" I shall be happy enough if I can do that."

" Yes, You are lucky in your first patient. Pecunia-
rily also. He is rich, of course, like all these English
milords. He is rich that he burst I Hare yon discussed
aa yet your fee with Charcot!"

"No," said Edward Tiolently. But the doctor's red
face did not alter in any way. "Well," he answered,
with dignified reserve, " I should say you could certainly
ask for this treatment a hundred thousand francs — or
why not five thousand pounds? They prefer to count in
their own way, and an odd way it is — five thousand
steriings, eht — five thousand golden guinea sterlings. It
sounds well Sir Oraye, this is my little bill for find-
ing your noble nephew's brain^-a marvelous new thing
in science I How much! — not much; no — five thousand
guinea sterlings."

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THE HEALERS

"He is in the greatest danger I " cried Edward.

"But that does not alter the matter of the little bill.
It ia a big bnaineea; there will be many to pay."

"I do not want any money at all," exclaimed the ex-
asperated Edward.

Ducrot stood still, and now, certainly, his face altered;
the grizzled whiakers seemed to curl up round a purple
sun. " Impossible I " he shouted. " Ridiculous I Absurd I
Tou injure, you insult the whole profession! Pray, what
is to become of ust and of our rightful share) Charcot
has certainly a right to ten per cent, for be got you the
patient; and I, of courae, as you are doubtless aware,
receive ten per cent of all doctors' charges, besides my
own, in this establishment. Tou would be robbing us,
monsieur, l^ charging less than five thousand guinea
pounds I I certainly shall place mj* percentage on that
basis. I expect, monsieur, five hnndred golden sterlings.
I am entitled to themt " A lady passed, coming from a
side walk — a patient. He took off his tall hat with a
broad smile and a wide sweep. "And how are your
neuralgias, madame 9 Better t Ah, I am ao glad ! " Then
he dropped his voice, and, more calmly: "But, of course,
you do not mean what you say. It would be the ^id,
iu the beginning, of your career."

" Tou must let me think about it, Uonaieur Ducrot,"
answered Edward courteously. " This question of pay-
ment ia quite new to me. It seems a(i absurd thing that
B man should be paid for experimenting on a poor fellow
creature as I have done."

Dr. Ducrot shrugged his shoulders. " I do not under-
stand you," be said acridly. "Tou had bettor go for
information to some older colleague, whom you can trust.
.Farewell 1 But remember, I beg of you, that five hun-
dred pounds is my legitimate share."

"Of the plunder," said Edward, alone in the street,

between his teeth. But he soon found out how greatly

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be wronged Ductot. The claims that came in from other
quarters fitted jierfectlj into the proprietor's statement
of the case.

" And what peicentage is due," asked Edward of one
of the young Salp€tri6re doctors, "to the medium who
decided me to undertake the operation b; certifying the
existence of constant pain? I should never have risked
it but for that. She is the author of the whole thing I "

The young doctor laughed. "We call her a patient,
not a profeseional," he said. " As yet we do not pay our
patients. Have you seen the professor's latest extraor-
dinary case of this transmission of nerve action t Oh,
you must come I There are two women in one ward,
great friends, one of them is deaf and dumb, the other
only hysterical. When the two are joined in a hypnotic
trance the hysterical woman is deaf and dumb, too. She
beaJ^ absolutely nothing, not a pistol fired behind her
ears I"

"I must come and Bee that," replied Edward.

"There is no difficulty about that; it is not like te-
lepathy," remarked the young doctor.

" So, telepathy is certainly the great mystery of the
moment," said Edward, " for such of us, at least, as do
not believe in the miracles of spiritism, the " — he stared
the young French doctor full in the face — " the com-
munication of impressions from a distance, the fact,
proved by experience and entirely unexplained as yet by
Bolence, that people occasionally see and hear sights and
sounds that are beyond the reach of their ^es and ears.
The thing exists."

" The thing exists," replied the young assistant, " and
if Charcot live long enough he will explain it."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

OHAPTEE XVI

That third of January was the most crowded and the
moBt emotional — the flurriedeet — day of the poor pio-
fesaor's life. Hasty arrangements had been made in the
whole scientifia world of the city to do him some sort
ot immediate honor — all sorts of honor — rather harnm-
Ecarum, while preparations and pleasure were bn^ with
plans for a great official banquet and reception. The
quiet old man, who would have disliked that sort of thing,
while Bcceptii^ it as an honor to his nationality at all
times, was now carried round protesting that urgent busi-
ness, never for a moment out of his memory, would
probably recall him to Leyden next day. With " Maia
noni maia non!" vociferating all arotmd him, he was
wondering what disaster awaited bin t in Holland. As
he entered the great lecture room of his greatest living
colleague, and all the cosmopolite auditory rose up and
cheered hi in to the echo, he was calculating at what hour
of the evening he would find himself face to face with
Mr. Abrahams — of Abrahams, Moss, Hoses, de Mont-
morency and Company, Bankers. The baroness, unfit for
these medical celebrations, had been carried off l^ Laura
to inspect, with more curiosity than interest. Miss Mac-
Clachlin's (Buvre at the abattoirs. Thomasine accom-
panied her father, where ladies could penetrate at alL
After her peaceful, if occasionally painful, studies with
her brother, the sight of some of the lady students — for
instance, the strenuous Slavs — ^was rather a shock to her.
They were not in Thomaeine's line. But the clamorous
enthusiasm all around her father imparted to that breath-
less day in Pans a living delight for all later musings
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that easily effaces any vexatious impression of i
taiy money trouble. Tlie absence of Edward, tied down
to Sir Jaoies Qraye's pillow, was a far moie real sorrow
as she stood listening by her father's side.

"It is wonderful, but wearing," gasped the professor,
as he sank into an armchair in his own sitting room.
The long wint«r evening bad fallen.

"Tour brother will be here in a couple of hours," said
the baroness, a little tremulously. " By the bye " — her
face broadened to a full smile, as when the sun breaks
triumphant through clouds — " I found five newspaper re-
porters waiting for you when I got back from the Uercy
for the Muttons business. I interviewed them all, or,. I
should say, I let them interview me. They were exceed-
ingly sympathetic about ' Balaam.' I read them pieces,
and they said they were delighted by the sound. Liriam's
great speech to the king is to appear in the Tempt. I
expect a proof to-night. I wonder if Thomasine could
manage a French translation ? "

" N'ot metrical, mamma," said Thomasine.

The baionesB smiled. "No; none of my children have
my gift. Edward was a great disappointment; that was,
after his infant debui. Well, well, he has disappointed
you, too, Thomas, all his life long, but he's coming right
in the end."

" He will be a bif^er man than I," said the professor.
"And a wiser one, I trust," he added with a sigh.

"At least he will have no brother to ruin him," said
tlie lady. She thrust her hand among the professor's pile
of letters, cards, and invitations, the accumulation of the
afternoon's successive posts. "All these!" she said.
" Let me look if my proof is among them."

"Don't let us judge Francis till we know everything,"
remonstrated the professor. " He says, ' Recovery prob-
able.'"

The baroness vouchsafed no answer; she was maturing
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THE HEALERS

a base plan for inserting ImpM-Boshek, where most
ampl? characterized as a fool, in the Figaro, a harmless
but sufficiently sardonic revenge. "The Figaro is eoing
to bring oul an article on ' Wedded Oenius,' my dear," she
remarked, "whereby it means you end me."

But at this moment Laura, who had been listlesBly
Bortiug the euTelopee, lifted one for closer scrutiny, and
laid it down before the professor. "That letter," she
said, pointing, " is written by a thief."

" How so, my dear? " The professor got his spectacles;
be fumbled a good deal. " How so t "

" I suppose you don't believe in graphology. Well, you
needn't. But, in doubt, abstain, as they say in French,
and so don't have any business transactions with the
writer of that letter. I t^ll you he's a thief."

The professor had opened the envelope. An exclama-
tion leaped from his lips. "It's a personal letter from
the man Abrahams," he said, "with a number of techni-
calities I should never be able to make out."

Laura had taken the letter. "Well, he's a. thief," she
said. " It's quite plain in his handwriting. There may
be a lot of nonsense about graphology, but certain char-
aoteristicB are unmistakable, and dishonesty, like vanity,
is one of them. Your Hr. Abrahams will rob yon, if
he can."

" Of course; he's a banker," said the medinval, muddle-'
headed baroness.

"Why, my dear, that's the attitnde of the Romish
Church I" cried the professor, always analytical.

" It has attitudes worth noting," replied his lady sagely.

" This Abrahams I This Abrahams ! " said the pro-
fessor. And again, by no means for the first time that
day, he took a pill. " 80 much the worse for me, if he
isathiefl Heaven knows how I am to meet him! As for
your graphology, I should think it highly probable the
thing exists. And if so, it must be reducible to souie
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THE EEALEBB

form of science. I have not studied the subject, Laura.
People's handviiting maniiestl; changes with their men-
tal and moral development Personally I am persuaded
nothing would influence a man's mental gro^h as much
as an injection of Semicolon serum, if we could get it to
reach the brain. It would be most interesting to compare
* a subject's writing before and after that injection. Most
interesting — most interesting." The professor sat pon-
dering ; nobody interrupted him when he did that. " But
there are many pseudo-sciences," he recommenced pres-
ently, "far better left uninvestigated. Th^ hare their
use. Of such is legitimate quackery. Kow, these pills"
— he tapped the box — " it would be quite easy for me to
analyze them. I should find nothing inside. But I am
careful not to do so. I rejoice in their influence. Unan-
alyied they calm me and send me to sleep." He sighed.
" The world is very complicated," he said.

"It is full, full, full I" cried Laura — "full of intan-
gible wonders on every hand."

" Properly analyzed, my dear, you would probably find
the whole thing was a single microbe," replied the pro-
fessor. "At present the theory is that it is a primal
cell. Good Heavens, how shall I fight this manl I
don't understand a word he says." With these words
he rose to prepare for the spiritleea dinner, a very differ-
ent thing from the animated feast of the day before.
Despite his abundance of conversational interests, the one
engrossing thought came cropping up constantly of the
approaching ordeal he felt so unfit to meet.

Before the meal was over the waiter brought in the
card of Mr. Kenneth Graye. He was the bearer of a
note from Edward.

"I dare not leave my patient. His temperature is
108°. Consult Graye. Tou loay trust him absolutely."

" My brother will be here in twenty minutes," said the
baron, "with the other — gentleman."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

"Our idea — ^your son's and mine — ^waa that I ahould
appear aa the person willing to advance the required
Bum," said Oraye, established vith a cup of coffee and a
nidimental home feeling among these kindlj, simple
folks. For Laura had a lazy smile for eTerybody, and the
baroness, like so many elderly women of het class, looked
far less dangerous at £i8t sight than she, quite uncon-
acioualy, was.

" That, of course, would procure me a title to go into
ereiTthing. And then, at least, I could give yon my
opinion for what it is worth."

"I should indeed he glad of it," said the professor.
" Indeed, I know nobody in Paris whom I could consult
as to the exact difference between a bond and a share."

Kenneth felt not the slightest inclination to smile.
The compact being now ratified, the little part^ awaited
the early irruption of the two financiers. By the English-
man's advice, swiftly seconded, the men remained alone
to meet the men.

"ISy dear Jane," said the baron, "why not! You do
not imagine I am afraid I"

The colonel, brave soldier, looked the more disconcerted
of the two brothers vrhen they stood opposite each other.
Kr. Abrahams naturally seemed placidity itself. He was
a thin, little marble-faced man, with a black stand-up
fringe round his polished skull, and lots of tiny gray
veins about bis keen ^es and his rounded nose.

"Tez, quite so," he said, dragging his words; "yes, an
English shentleman, yes I "

"Who, I understand you to Bay, dear brother, would
be willing to advance the amount required?" spake the

"If the Btat« of affairs were fully ^^lained to him,"
hastily subjoined the professor.
"Possibly," put in Kenneth.

" Oh, possibly, of course I " corrected the professor.
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THE HEALEKB

" If the state of affaiTB were fully explained to him,"
said Kenneth.

Kt. Abrahams half-lifted hie drooping lids and took a
long Btaifl at the speaker.

" I shall be only too pleased to find a good inveetment
for ro; money," added Kenneth, amiably returning the
stare. " If r. Abrahams vill be so kind ae to go into par-
ticulare, I am sure. He will remember that he has to
do with three men vho are none of them, strictly speak-
ing, men of business."

"Ah, that is always such a difficulty I" said Mr.
Abrahams. "You are not in commerce)"

" No."

" I had wished that you were."

"I am sorry, but it can't be helped," said Kenneth.

Mr. Abrahams, opening his cigar case, slowly selected a
cigar. Kenneth looked at the baron, who nodded. " Hay
I smoke? Oh, thanks I" said Kenneth, hastily producing
his pipe. " It doee clear the brain," he added. All lighted
up. Dutchmen soon do.

Brains, in another five minutee, needed more clearing
than they got. Mr. Abrahams explained a great deal,
especially his explanations. They required a lot of
explaining — all felt that, even he — and the more he ex-
plained the plainer it became that they wanted just a
little beyond what they were getting. From the little
muddle of papers heaped np before the colonel Mr.
Abrahams extracted vhat evidence he deemed necessary.
The colonel, suddenly called upon for a document, in-
variably produced the wrong one. Mr. Abrahams,
throng his pinca-net, selected another. " Oh, yes, of
course I I beg your pardon. How stupid of me I " said the
colonel. As for the facta which had to be explained, or
explained away, th^ were simple enough. Mr. Abrahania
had undertaken, on behalf of Colonel Lisae, vast specu-
lations in petrol and rubber, especially petrol. It ap-
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THE HEALERB

pears that, imfortunateb't under Mr. Abraliaiiui* super-
visioit the colonel and these products had played a sort
of seesaw with each other, for when the market dropped
the colonel was playing for a riee, and when the market
rose he was playing for a fall. It is theiefore not so
di£Scult to understand that, having been warned when
things were "down," he should have hurried to con-
gratulate his brother on seeing them " up." His instruc-
tions with regard to most of these transactions had been
verbal, excepting two or three brief notes — "The blue
envelope, I thinh. No, not that one" — the eyeglass —
" Thanks " — which clearly bore out Mr. Abrahams' as-
sertions. As things stood at present — and realty Messrs.
Abrahams, Moss, Moses, de Montmorency and Company
had been almost invariably lenient in the matter of cover
— as things stood at this moment, it looked like madneea
to realize.

"And like madness to continue," said the professor.
He had long ago tost the thread on which Mr. Abrahams
strung his ciphers, but he understood as much as that.
The sums paid in by the colonel already were enormous.
Tlicre was a painful silence after the professor's remaik.
It was broken by a knock, and a waiter, and another
visiting card.

"Pasteur!" said the professor aloud. He rose in the
greatest agitation. " I will come down," he said, " imme-
diately. Gentlemen, you must excuse me. Even this
crisis of my life — for such it is — cannot allow me to
keep Pasteur waiting at my door." He bowed to them all
and hurried from the room.

" We cannot decide, in any case, to-night," remarked
Kenneth.

" But we must. I have only time here in Paris till to-
morrow noonday. And I have a most important matter,
far more important than this, at eleven o'clock."

"This matter is important as far as it goee," replied
ISl

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBB

Kenneth cooll;. " Nothing could be done to>night, if we
wialied. I cannot leave my nephew, who is yery ill ; but
if jou will come to me to-morrow, at ten, we can settle
the buainesB. You lose nothing b; that"

" All, it is the nephew on whom Dr. Lisee performs the
groat operation, the English milord I " said Abrahams.

"Dr. Lisae has operated on my n^hew," answered
Kenneth.

" All 1 " Hr. Abrahanu' " ah ! " expressed approval of
English milords, immense operations, and resultant
wealth. " Well, yes. I will manage to come to-morrow,"
he said. He had never had an English milord among his
clients before.

" And Colonel Lisse will kindly leave me theee papers,"
said Kenneth.

The colonel left tiiem with alacrity.

"I cannot eay good night to the baron; perhaps I
might see mademoiselle for a moment. I must got back
to Auteuil," said Kenneth.

The colonel was preparing to escort Mr. Abrahams to
another hotel Thomasine came from the inner room and
stood facing Kenneth, in pretty maiden confusion, for
thought of their first meeting the day before.

" This man is a thief," said Kenneth.

Thomasine started. " Bo said Miss Baleyne."

" She was right, then. Yes, he is a common tbief."

" So we shall get our money back I " said Thomasine,
"through the police."

He smiled a very joyless smile. "No, for he is a suc-
cessful thief," he answered. "The law never touches a
successful financier. And it always can find terms to
arrest and condemn, if it iomAm, one that has failed.
Perhaps you have never noticed that."

" I know so little of these things," said Thomasine.

"Katurally. I think I may say that this Mr. Abra-
hams has not only swindled and defrauded, bat actually
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THE HEALERS

thieved. Honerer, if we weat to a lawyer he would
doubtleBS say tliere was no redress. There never is."

" What, then, must we dg t " said Thomasine.

"May I explain! Just one minute. When I first be-
gan to look after my nephew's affaire I soon came into
contact with a couple of cases of manifest rascality. I
remember so well going to our lawyer, quite simply:
'Would you just put this right for me! Get these
people condenmed.' He was an honest man, and he told
me at once that the right was on my side and the law on
theiia. ' And if it wasn't,' he said, ' they'd bring it round
to their side by trickery and perjury; they always do.
In legal proceedings no honest man ever atanda a chance
against a rogue.' That was a lawyer's verdict. I don't
know about your country, but it's bound to be the same."

"How dreadful! We never had anything to do with
law before," said Thomasine. Her ^es filled with indig-
nant tears, but she drove them back.

" Do you know what one of our greatest chancellors —
greatest lawyers, you know — aaidt 'If a man, in the
street, were to demand my coat or threaten legal pro-
ceedings, I should leave him my coat and walk on in
my shirt.' That, in all my memories, is the most awful
condensation of human suffering into one sentence that
I know. That little story has actually saddened my life.
If I brutally tell it to you, it is because I want to ex-
plain, brutally, why I can give you so little assistance,
why I smiled — Heaven help met I felt that you saw it
when you said, ' Through the police I ' An honest man
against a clever rogue has but one means — ^bnite force."

" My father cannot employ that," said Thomasine.

For a moment he did not answer. Perhaps, in hu
mind's eye, he was watching a free fight between Mr.
Abrahams and the professor. "The man is coming to
me to-morrow," he said, " and I believe I shall be able to
do something with him. At any rate, we shall release
183

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THE HEALEES

the colonel out of hie tolls. It is so good of you all to
tniHt me, a complete stranger, in this matter. I cannot
tell you how I feel it. It is a quit« new experience for
me. I — I feel it deeply." The conclusion was lame. He
visely stopped.

"We — it is we must thank you very gratefully," said
Thomasine.

"I hope you may yet have Bome little cause. In any
case, I will do my very best But I wanted you to be
sure you could trust me to do that." He looked at her.

" Yes, we can trust you to do that," she replied.

" And my beat isn't law and lawyeis," he said. He took
her hand, wondering whether, in the foreign way, he
oughtn't to — mightn't — kiss it. But he came to the
hurried conclusion that, probably, when you felt no de-
sire to do so, it was the proper thing to do.

On his way home he matured hie plan. " If you please,
Mr. Oraye," said Barton, " Sir James Just moans and
moans."

" He has his share of life," said Kenneth. He turned
from the door. Edward stood behind him.

"You think all life is suffering," said Edward.

" No. I think for some natures it is a long placidity,
and for others it is all torrent and spray. The whole
thing is a question of temperament. I fear I can sym-
pathize with James; he is very untutored. He cries in
his pain, hut you never felt pleasure to equal his dinner."

"You are bitter," said Edward, almoat tenderly,
"especially about yourself."

"I admit that life is hardest for the best. James is
an idiot."

"And you are not."

"No. A hundred times I have wished I were." His
voice Bounded from unknown depths.

" Why do you say that, Qrayet It is not a right thing
to say."

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THE HEALEKS

"Don't ask me why I say it. I have the best of
roasous." His back was turned to Ms friend.

"You are aony for ua," said Edward frankly; "you
see thia rogue triumphant; it sickens you to aee him. I
admit that the people who care about the suSeringa of
others suffer in this world almost more than human flesh
can bear. I admit that fully. Almost all great suffering
is vicarious. The people who enjoy life are the people
who confine themselves to their own immediate pabulum.
Very well. Like cows."

" Don't malign the dumb creatnree."

"I only mean that when a cow ruminates, it never
chews another's cud."

Kenneth lighted his pipe. "I shan't ruminate an;
more. What made a doctor of you, Edward Lisse! " He
veered round. "Why don't you answer? Was it pitj
for your own sufferings t Your health seems to me pretty
good,"

" My father waa a doctor," said Edward uncomfortatJy.

" Yea, curiosity made a doctor of your father, and pity
made a doctor of you." He held out his hand. " Good
night t You will, if you live but a little longer, leave
the world a trifle happier than you found it. What mor-
tal could desire more I But 1 1 "

" ' Whatsoever his hand found to do, he did it with all
his might '," replied Edward. " Thaf s in the Bible, isn't
it? Or something similar. I am not in the habit of
quoting the Bible at people, but I leave that for you to
mminate, Kemieth Oraye."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTEB XVn

"I THINK I have made the Bituation very nianife6t"
said Ur. Abrahams to Eeimeth. Tbey were Bitting in
the little, dark dining room, away from the eick-chamber
and the bright front of the house. Mi. Abrahams had
spread out the bits of papers and gone into those un-
fortunate details.

" Oh, very manifest 1 " answered Eenneth. " I hope you
found that cigar pretty decent. You don't mind my
pipe?"

" The cigar is a dream," said the financier, who could
be poetical on some subjeeta. "These, you see, are the
deplorable figures. If there is any other queatiou you
would ask, I shall be only too pleased to reply to it."

"There is one question I should still like to ask,"
answered Kenneth, sorting the banker's memoranda, ac-
cording to their dates, as they bad been sent in to
Colonel Lisse. Abrahams and he had been busy for forty
minntea. He was sick of the man.

"It is this," he said, selecting a paper and laying it
before the financier. " Why is this one so different from
the lesti"

"Different! How do you mean I " The banker's voice
was quite steady, only his clammy cbeek turned a little
gray-

"Well, you see wherein it is different from all the
rest"

"I must beg of you to explain your meaning," said
Mr. Abrahasis stiffly.

"Everyone of these statements of sales has under it

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THE HEALEKS

the words: 'For wUcli we accordingly credit your ac-
count, value to-day.' All of the amaller ones have. But
here is one of an enormous sale of stock — eigh^-five
thousand florins odd — on which the words are miming.
How comee that I "

" If the words are misBing, it is, of coarse, because the
account was not credited," replied the stockbroker in-
solently. Tea, his tone was suddenly insolent. He coolly
relighted his cigar. The insolraice of the tone decided
Kenneth; it was all he needed. It subsequently meant
s small fortune to the lasses.

"And why was it not credited, do you think?"

"Because it was paid out of hand, of course."

" A cash payment 1 It is a large sum for a cash pi^-
ment."

"That depends on the business," said Mr. Abrahams,
with a lofty lift of his Oriental eyebrows.

"Undoubtedly. Still — " Kenneth glanced at the pa-
per. " On the seventeenth of November a cash payment
of eighty-five thousand odd. Tour cash account, of
course, would bear that out t "

"Of course it would. Do you doubt itt"

" I do not doubt it." Kenneth could not quite keep the
aneer out of his voice. "It is unfortunate that the
' colonel does not remember the cash payment of so fmoz-
mouB a sum."

" The poor stupid colonel is a brave soldier," said Mr.
Abrahams. " Hay I take another of those moat excellent
cigars t "

"Help yourself. Colonel lasae is a bad man of busi-
ness; he avers that he never received any money — this
enormous sum would have had to be paid in bank
notes — ^but that all payments were credited by you to his
account."

"He is a bad man of buainees," said Mr. Abrahams,
lighting up.

18 187

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THE HEALERS

"But not so bad as to forget receiving, say, eighty-
five bank notes, and the Test Do you tbink be dropped
tbem or lost tbemi"

" Do jfou think that a banking bouse — eren so great a
one aa oure — could make a mistake about one cent in its
cash payments and not hunt down that mistake before
the day closed I "

" Ko," said £ennetb, and be vent round and locked the
door.

"What do you mean} What do you mean to in-
sinuate I " cried JSr. Abrahams, half -rising. " Let me
tell you, sir, that in my country properly kept books are
eridence — ^l^ral evidence I "

"I don't doubt it," replied £enneth, standing thought-
fully by the door. " That's just the sort of infamous
enactment lawyers would make. I dare say it's the same
in my country. L^al evidence — against an honest man's
word, a tradesman's cooked accounts, by Q 1"

"Tou insinuate 1 Tou insinuate!" cried Abrahams in
a loud fury, behind which be hid his funk. He was not
a man of violent measures; bis success had been made by
smiles and sneers. The locking of the door had greatly
disconcerted bim.

" I insinuate nothing. I state that those few words
were intentionally omitted. The thing is beautifully
simple when you come to think of it. I suppose the
colonel ought to have noticed the omission when he got
your memorandum. But what would that have availed
him, even if be bad written at once) Your books are
legal evidence I By Jove I"

" I am a swindler, then t A common awindler I " stam-
mered Mr. Abrahams. His sharp eyes went black.

"Why use the word I And really your method is bo
simple a child might have applied it Simple and beauti-
fully complete I"

"The law, sir, will decide between us. We shall see

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THE HEALEB8

whether you hare the right to call i
pointed to hie breast — " a swindler I "

" I have called you uo such thing. But I certainly shall
not contradict you. I haven't time. You aie due aome-
where at eleven. It is a quarter to. You have just time
to put those words, which were omitted, at the foot of
that account."

" You are mad."

" Not yet," said E«nneth, in his saddest voice.

" It is absurd I "

"It becomes less absurd," said Kenneth, "when I tell
you it must be done at once."

" You use violence I You threaten t "

" Not exactly. But you can't leave this house till it is

" I will cry out 1 I will rouse the neij^iboThood I "

" You may cry out aa much as you like, but you will
not rouse the neighborhood. This is a sort of private
asylum, and ours is the quietest comer of the grounds.
Did anyone hear you, they would think it was my nephew."

" It is a guet-apens 1 "

" Call it whatever you like, but write ' for which
amount we accordingly credit your account, value to-day.'
That's aU."

"I will never do itl" Mr. Abrahams put his hands
behind his back.

" Then you will not keep your appointment at eleven."

" I must I " shrieked Abrahams. " And I must leave for
Amsterdam at twelve I "

" You will do neither."

" I must 1 I must telegraph to Amsterdam 1 I must 1 "

Mr. Abrahams, as has been said, was eminently fitted
for warfare, but not of this downri^^t sort. And he had
told the truth in stating that the interests which had
brought him to Paris were far greater than the baron's
paltry ruin.

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THE HEALERS

"I don't threaten, but 7011 had better make up your
mind. Ahl " Kenneth snatched the paper off the table.
"Tou were seing to tear it up, vere you, jou rascally
thief I Oh, I know you are a great banker, an honorable
banker; I can see the little rosette in your buttonhole!
Eut now I tctU threaten. If you tear this up, I will
dash yonr brains out with yonder bottle." He nodded to
the sideboard. " Ko, I haven't a rerolTei' about me, but
the bottle will quite do. Tou don't expect me to do it;
1 can aee that in your eyes. But you will, when you
hear that you're locked in with a madman. Quite a
pretty sort of madman, if yon treat him properly, but
a madman all the sam^ and a nasty madman, if you
treat him wrong ! " He advanced toward the shrinking
banker. His dark face glowed; his black eyes were blaz-
ing with a frantic fire; his whole voice had changed to
a scream; with one hand ho caught at the bottle and
swung it on bigb, " Fool ! " he shrieked, " scoundrel,
fool, to have raised the devil in me." He flung the paper
on the table. "There it lies! Destroy it, if you dare I
If yon do, you will keep your next appointment in hell ! "

The banker fell back into the farthest comer and cried
out. Kenneth laughed.

No one came. The clock hurried on. Kenneth spoke
again : " Write quickly, and get away. If you wait much
longer it may be too late. I cannot bold out much
longer. I have been yearning to kill yon ever since you
came into the room."

" It ia robbery, with violence I " wailed the banker.

"Don't talk much morel and don't ask for explana-
tions 1 But listen to me, for Qod's sake! when I say to
you, 'Write,' and go." He steadied himself, keeping
down his arms by a visible effort.

Pin voice and the change of his face were so terrible
that AbrahamH stammered, " Mercy 1"

" Ob, for Heaven's sake, write, and go I "
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Abmhainfi glanced at the window, at the door, at the
clock, at the man standing before him, a oompreaaed fury,
with the loaded bottle in one hand.

The man, seeing the glanoee, laughed again, and as the
stockbroker heard that laugh he seised the pen and with
trembling fingers wrot« the sentence required of him.
The other took the paper and read the words aload. Then
he drew the kef from his pocket and flung it on the
table. " Oo I " he said. " You will get the colonel's in-
structionB to-morrow. Oo."

When the banker had fumbled and stumbled himself
out of sight, Kenneth Qraye sank bis head on the table —
ou the little heap of papers — with a groan, then another,
and another — long, shuddering, like the death-agony of
a wounded beast.

Thua Barton found him a full hour later. "Hr. Ken-
neth ! " said the frightened serrant, " Mr. Kenneth ! For
God'a sake, bear up I "

Kenneth looked at bitn stupidly. " It's all right. Bar-
ton," he Btanunered. "Vm — oh, it's all right. You
mustn't mind."

"Mr. Lisse was asking for you, sir. Shall I tell him
you're not well ) "

" Yes — ^yes."

" Or perhaps it'd be better for you to see him — change
your thoughts. I ought to have disobeyed your orders
when I heard you crying out."

"I didn't cry out — did It The — ^the man I had busi-
ness with cried out. Is that you, Lisse) Oome in! Fm
all right"

"What has happened to yout" asked Edward, looking
fixedly at him.

" fTothing. It was rather an unpleasant interview, but
Fve got some of the monf^ back."

" Don't let's talk of it now. Jamea ia better. Qo and
lie down."

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"No, no, why should I) Where's my pipet"

"Qo and lie down in the dark — to please me; there's

a good fellow! What you want is rest."
When Barton came back to Edward the latter was stilt

standing in the dining room.
"Is your master often like thist" he asked.
"How do you mean, Mr. Lisse?"
"I ask you, is your master often like this I"
" And I take the liberty, air, of asking you how do yon

mean ! "
" Do your best for him when he is," said Edward.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XVIll

" I AM a fool," Baid the colonel.

" I beg youT pardon ? " remarked the baroness, looking
up from her newspapers. Half a dozen lay around her.

"I say that I am a fool, Jane."

" Nobody else has said it," replied the baroness dryly.

" Perhaps nobody knows so well as I," remarked her
brother-in-law humbly. "Had you ever noticed the fact
before, Thomasine!"

"No, uncle. Is a gentleman always a fool when a
thief succeeds in robbing himj"

"Dear girl," said the professor, patting his daughter's
hand.

" That may be as it may be," replied the colonel grate-
fully. "All the same, 7 am a fool, and I here make
public confeesion of the fact. A man is a fool when he
meddles and muddles in things he don't know about.
And to rehabilitate — yea, that is the word — myself in the
eyes of my family I hereby further announce that I am
going to return to the one thing I do know about. I
have written this morning to the minister, volunteering
for active service in Acheen."

There was a general outcry. " At your age ! " said the
baroness.

" I am over fifty," replied Colonel Lisse.

"Is it wise? Is it necessary?" asked his brother.

"As for that, I must leave others to judge. But
things are going to the dogs there to such an extent that
I can hardly do mnch harm." At this moment Kenneth
Graye was announced. " Mr. Graye," said the colonel, " I

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THE HEALEEB

do not know wlietber jfou are aware that Ccesar was b
very bad Iiand at all money matters. I have no wish to
compare myself with Ctesat; all I mean is, you may be
a good soldier, and a fool about pounds, shillings, and
pence. I am going back to try and get some more work
where thU came from." They all noticed that the colo-
nel wore his war medal. " I start for The Hag^e this
evening. If I fall, Thomas, you must put three F's on
my grave under the bananas, three E's only — nothing
more." He waited for them to ask what the three Fb
would stand for, but as nobody did so he spake solemnly,
annoyed: "'Francis, Fighter, Fool.' But none of the
nigger boys need know the meaning. Let them think it
ia, ' Francis fighting fell.' " He sat down heavily, and in
sepulchral tones repeated, " Francis fighting felL"

" That is a beautiful thought," said the baroness, with
a rapt expression. " The soldier's grave under the ba-
nanas. Francis fighting fell." After a moment she
added: "It would be a memorable end, Francis — ^worth;
of the finest poem I could write."

" I shan't do it on that account," replied the colo-
nel, with sudden acerbity. "For king and country,
Thomas I" '

" Ood send you safe back to us all ! " said the pro-
fessor.

The baroness, who had been knitting her brows in
thought, rose, looked at her watch, thrust her newspapers
into a heap, and marched up to her brother-in-law.
" When all is said and done," she spake, " you are worthy
of the name you bear, Francis Lisse."

"'Tis a good name," said he.

"And a great," asserted the baroness, looking at her
husband. " Three men bear it at this moment, and each
of them is fighting as bravely as ever did the warrior
knights of old. Mr. Oraye," she said, "you alone know
Paris; will you take me where I want to go!" On the

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Btaire she added :" I am in a great buny. Do you know
the Rue Drouot I "

"CJertainly. It isn't far,"

So they raced along the boulerard together. She re-
fused to let him call a cab. " I avoid their cabs," she said.
" They illtreat their hoTses bo," He wondered whether
she knew about the things rendered necessary by the very
existence of the Institut Pasteur. Perhaps she guessed
his thoughts. " Hy husband alwa^ calls out, ' Mind ! ' "
she said vaguely, " and of course hie experiments are a
blessing to mankind. Oh, let's huny; I'm afraid I shall
be too late I Is this the street! And the office of the
Figaro^ Come with me, I beg of you," she said, all
£urry and nervousness.

She gave her name. " Ah, the wife of the great scien-
tist!" She was shown into a subeditor's room. "Your
article will be a great success, Madame la Baronnel "

"I have come to stop it I" she gasped; "at least, to
take out part — the quotation from my poem."

The journalist stared at her with decent vexation,
" But — impossible — the whole thing is set up I "

" Oh, not yet 1 " she pleaded. " Suidy not yet I I felt sure
I should be in time. Let me give you another piece ! "

"But, madame," remonstrated the editor, smiling at
the poor author's vanity — the uaual thing, "I regret to
think how few of our readers will be able to appreciate
it. To these few, however, the description of" — he
glanced at a sheet before him — " Imphi-Boshek will
doubtless appeaL"

" It cannot be changed ! " said the baroness helplessly.

" I greatly regret I " Monsieur Qardin lifted a depreca-
tory hand.

The baroness joined Kenneth in the lobby. "Yes, I
shall need to have a cab, after all," ahe said. In the
fiacre she wiped her eyes. " I hope you don't mind seeing
an old woman cry," she said.

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THE HEALERS

"It makes me wretched to aee a woman ciy," he an-
srei^ " I wish I could help you more."

" Oh, it's not the money ! " she answered. " I don't
fancy money would ever make me ahed tears. Bat Tve
lived fifty-five yeara without committing a mean action,
and Tve committed one now."

He did not know what to answer, imcomfortahl^
locked up with this confeBaion in a cab.

"It's 'a mean action known only to mysdf," she said.
"It hurts nobody."

"That muBt surely diminish its meanness very con-
siderably," he replied.

But the baronees said she did not agree with him, and
Bobbed once or twice during the short drive back to the
hotel. At the last moment, however, her femininity got
the better of her. " I don't know what yon may think,"
she said : " Tve held up my brother-in-law to ridicule in
the Figaro." He could not keep back his look of horror
and alarm! "Whet? the whole money scandal!" "It's
only my own ridicule," she continued. "Nobody could
possibly guess it was he, escept my husband and son, and
they won't see the paper."

" Fm afraid, baroness," he said, as he helped her to
alight, "the world is too full of crimes to make room
for yours. Could I talk to you a moment about this
money business!" he added. "I don't want to trouble
the professor. Shall I tell you!"

"Oh, no, don't I" she said pathetically. "Talk to
Thomasine. I shouldn't understand. It really doesn't
matter very much; I may say that, as you seem to care
so kindly. If there isn't any money left, we can easily
live without." And with head erect, and reddened eyes,
she sailed into the sitting room. " Thomasine," she aaid,
"go and talk with Mr. Graye about these horrid inveat-
ments. Tell him, at any rate, that Laura has plenty, or
he'll be wanting to give too much to Edward."
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Alone with her husband, she added : " We have Do call
to live on charity yet."

" No, indeed ; yet it looks rather like it with Laura."

"So, Thomas. If Laura pays for Bardwyk, it must
belong to her and Edward. Surely, you don't want itt"

" My dear," replied the prof eeaor, " can you imagine
my wanting anything but my laboratory! Aa long as
Bardwyk belongs to Edward I am iierfectly content."

Heanwhile Kenneth was explaining to Thomasine that
the best thing her parents could do with the sum he
had succeeded in recovering was to wind up all transac-
tions with Abrahams, Moss, et cetera. " I em afraid there
will not be much left," he said. "When all is settled,
certainly not enough to keep up a large country

" But all that is so much simpler with ua," she put in.

He pulled a face, and her heart sank.

"However, I understand that your future aister-in-
law — " he hesitated.

"My sister-in-law is not us," she said. "We shfill be
very poor, then, shall we?" Before he could find an
answer, she continued trenmlously : " I may never see
you again. I have been wanting to ask you — I shall not
stay at home, with my two sisters coming back — I sup-
pose you have many grand relations in your country;
perhaps you could — could help me to find a place as
governess. I have been very well educated "

"Toul" he exclaimed; "you, in your social posi-
tion "

"Don't you think that makes It easier?" she inter-
rupted him, "One can never lose one's privil^ce of
birth."

"Tou can hardly have an idea of the position of a
govemeas in England."

"I know that yonr social distinctions are more clearly
defined than ours. But that also makes things easier."
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THE HEALERS

"But I sbould have thought, if you really decide on
anything of the kind — nareing "

"No, I could not be a nuiee. You will mock at my
reason; it sounds so conceited. I knov too much of
medidne."

"But all nuisea think they know a lot about medi-
cine."

She laughed in apite of her trouble. "How prettily
you put that," she said. " They think they do, and that
keeps them happy. But I have studied with my brother,
you know. I should see how things were going, and the
doctor's mistakee — sometimes — and I couldn't stand
that."

"As far as I am concerned," he answered almost
roughly, "I am dead against you going as a goTemesa,
but of course 111 help you always, in any way I can."

" Thank you," she said, and he made up his mind that
he could kisB her hand quite as easily as Laura's, who
seemed gracefully to expect it.

"These tireeome money mattera," said Laura; "these
tiresome, tiresome monsy matters 1 Edward, why don't
you take my money and pay the people, and have done
with it!"

" Dearest, you are not even of age."

She sat up, alarmed. " Oh, we can't wait till Fm
twenty-three I "

"That is not necessary. At least, I mean, your mar-
liagell put you right, there."

"Oh, well, then, let's marry at oucel Take me to a
church this afternoon, Edward, and use the money, and
let's talk of something else."

" Tou'll want your guardian's consent. Who w your
guardian! Uncle Francis, of course."

"I haven't got a guardian. Oh, yea, your Uncle
Francis, I suppose! But he doesn't know about the
money, you see."

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He eat thinking.

" When we are married," he said, " and yon have
bought Baidwyk, then Bardwyk will belong to you."

She looked at Mm for a moment, aa if she were going
to C17; then she anewered: "And I shall live in it all
by myself."

Whereupon he laughed, and kissed her. "James is
better this morning again," he said. " Only think — if he
pulls through t "

"We will take him to Bardwyk," she replied, "and
nurse him there. I have been thinking that might be
our wedding trip. Edward, I don't think there ought to
be these big houses standing empty-^o you I Don't you
think it's a wickedness in our days, with our views t
You must put your patients away in Bardwyk, among
the woods and the flowers, and nurse them back to life."

He took her in his arms again rapturously, and kissed
her on her lipa, on her eyes, on her hair.

"Hush! hush!" she murmured, her Oriental blood
aflame. " Edward, dear, I wonder if your mother thinks
me improved! I've been trying hard in Brussels to
Europeanize myeelf, to make myself fit for the flne name
yon are going to give me. I fear I shall never be a
great lady — but — but — O Edward, there's another thing
troubles me so very much. My mother no longer speaks
to me as she used to do." Two great tears stood in her
luminous eyes. He was silent. " Say something," she
whispered.

"Dearest, what shall I sayt"

" Some day you will believe, when yoo understand," she
said. "I try to understand, when I believe. Mean^diile,
we will take your patients to Bardwyk, and you will
study them there."

" The home of the Lisses a lunatic asylum I " says the
baionees. But the professor thinks Laura is right.

The professor, however, had more important things to
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:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gl

THE HEALEH8

think about. He got hold of Edward. " My boy," he
said, " I hope you will not misunderatand me "

"Ko, I quite agree with you," answered Edward, "and
I told Kenneth Oraye Bo."

"But we have not yet spoken of the matter."

" Yea, Oraye told me he had offered to advance you the
money till my marriage. He is a poor man, however —
he did not tell you that — and the money "

"Money I Mon^I I have other matters in my head
than this everlasting mon^," exclaimed the professor.
"Will you listen for a moment, and let me talk sense t"

Edward composed his features. The professor took a
pill, at sight of which Edward considerately sat down.
The professor followed his example.

" My boy," said the professor, " fate has willed that you
ahould, most unexpectedly, be given the opportunity of
making good whatever you may have marred eight years
ago. Few men are so favored."

"Dear father, what is it you refer to?" asked Edward.

"Boy, yoii cannot have forgotten! I wished never to
apeak of it again, but circumstances compel me — that
nii^t, when I had aaked you to inject "

"I have not forgotten; it decided my whole future,"
said Edward hastily.

"Ton do not regret that decision t" The professor
bent forward in keenest anxiety.

" I rejoice in it — now," replied Edward.

"I am glad of that; I am glad to have been the
means," said the professor complacently. And Edward,
his heart full of thoughts of Laura, let the dear old
father talk. "As I was remarking," continued the pro-
fessor, vainly trying to tranquiliae his voice, "you are
now offered an exceptional opportunity of putting the
thing right. I do not deny that this was the considera-
tion which brought me to Paris. The moment has come,
Edward; the moment has come. Tou can now inject
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THE HEALEBS

the senim direct into the open brain of Sir James
Graye."

" Fatherl " cried Edward, aghast.

"It ia absolutely oertain thst the result will be mar-
TelouB," declared the professor. " Brown-S^iiaTd'a re-
jurenescent serum is abenrd; he will prove that presently
by dying. I caimot undeiatand how the Academy can
treat him seriously. But his theory is Boimd, and there
is no doubt that the Semicolon serum, though it will not
rejuTiraieece, will successfully combat its own microbes.
What more do you want? It is supremely important at
this moment to eemicolonize Jamee Qraye's brains 1"

" But, father "

"Bat me no buts, hut listen," interruptfid the pro-
fessor angrily. "I have devoted my whole life to this
thing; you aee here in Faria with what success. I am
certain of my result. It is perfectly scientific"

" I know that," said Edward.

"Then what is it I I shall sot insult you by imagin*
ing for a moment that you want to keep your patient to
yourself.**

"No, please, father."

" I do not." The professor pulled his tie " straight ** ;
that was a habit of his when vexed. The more vexed
he was, the " straighter," right or left, he pulled it.

"Only, father, I cannot, I dare not, experiment on
James Graye."

"Pray what have you been doing till now!"

" This was kill or cure, father. It isn't quite the same,
if yon'U forgive my saying bo."

"Onrel Curel"

"I was quite certain," said Edward earnestly, "that
James Graye would have less pain if he lived."

"And I am quite certain that, if you inject my serum
in the brain direct, he will be another man."

"I daren't do it, father."

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THE HEALERS

The professor rose, trembling. "For tbe Beoond time,
then," he said bitterl;, " nay, for the third — the third —
my ovn son pUcee himself in the middle of my path and
tunu me from the goaL"

" Father 1" cried Edward.

"I will remind yon," oontiDued the professor remorse-
lessly, " how I wasted a couple of years in onr miserable
babble-ahop — But no, why ahould I thus humiliate my-
self i Let me pass."

Edward eeised his father's hand and drew him bock,
imploring.

" Father, I can't do it t I can't 1 Let me at least tell
you why. I have passed my word of honor to Kenneth
not to experiment in any way on the brain I "

"Passed your word of honor t" repeated the professor
dnlly.

" Yee. It is a queetion with him of — what ahall I call
itt — religion. He asked whether I thought the soul was
in the brain, and of course I eaid yes, as far as we know.
And he made me promise most solemnly, before the
operation, that I would not touch the brain."

"This is nonBenael" cried the professor. "Why, your
whole operation 'touches' — practically manipulates — the

" But it leaves it as before, only better placed. I can't
help it, father. I have given my word of honor."

" He is a fool, then I " cried the angry professor.

"It is his idea. I fear I must, in all honesty, say I
understand what he means."

"If yon have pledged your word of honor, though I
cannot comprehend your doing it," remarked the broken-
hearted professor, " there is no more to be aaid." And,
without another look at his son, he passed out.

Edward felt more than ever that he treated bis poor
father ill.

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CHAPTER yry

In a few days — the official reception Iiaring paaaed off
successfully — the baron and baroness returned home.
They took Laura with them. The banns were to be put
up in Leyden, and the marriage would take place there
as soon as Edward could leave or moTo Jomea Graye.
Thomasine remained to keep her brother company as
guest of Miss MacClachlin. Kenneth Oraye showed the
two ladiee the sights of Paris, and it was astonishing how
interested the good-natuied Scotch spinster became in
art treasures she had never thought of inquiring about till
now. 8he could not have distinguished a Velasquez from
a Bembrandt before, or after, her art course with Qraye.
He spoke feelingly of the poverty of the greatest masters.

" Then why did they paint ? " said Maria.

" Heaven knows I " replied Kenneth. And Thomasine
thought that was a most beautiful reply.

To the girl this change from long copyings of "Ba-
laam" to slow wanderings through the Louvre with a
sympathetic guide was astonishing and amazing; not so
much that she realized the dullness of the former, but
rather the delight of the other thing.

Miss MacClachlin was persistently kind to Thomasine.
She tried also to dissuade her from the governess plan
and to attach her to her own Mutton Mission. "I assure
you," she said, " a French butcher boy is a thousand
times more interesting any day than an En^^ish school-
room miss."

Thomasine had German classes and English classes
among the Chevaliers de B6tail. They were delighted

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THE HEALERS

with her. Uaria UacCladiliD ehowed not — nay, nor did
she feel — an atom of jealousj, when thirty roughs, to her
three, demanded to be taught hr la jolie hollandaise.
" Elle est aittgi belle que lei vaehei de son pays" said
Jean. " 8a taille eat mieitx" said Pierre. " In the long
run," Thomasine confided to Eenneth, "I would rather
have girls. But I wouldn't hurt Uisa UacClaohlin'a feel-
ings for the world."

" Nor would I," replied Kenneth ; but somehow, with-
out doing that, he stopped the classes. Itiss ItacClachlin
said he was the most reasonable man she had ever met.

Thomasine was lifted out of the class room and dropped
into the dispensary, and there, most unmistakably, she
fell on her feet. " I don't know what I ahall do without
her," cried Uaria. " She has actually cured Mimi of the
scab." Uimi was a pet lamb of Uaria's, presented to her
1^ her butcheiB, in the same manner as the one they had
— rather at her instigation, it must here be admitted —
bestowed upon James Graye.

Maria's " (Envre " often hung heavy on her hands, and
she sighed for the repose — not for the luxury — of Rowan-
gowan. (The name of this beantiful home, by the bye,
IB pronounced " Roon," but no British i«ader will re-
quiie to be informed of that fact.) The maid Hortense
was more especially a trial. To dispense with hei was im-
possible, for she formed the sole link between the deli-
cately nurtured Presbyterian lady and the crowd of
French hooligans, whose language and ways of thinking
became instant abracadabra without this indigenous help.
In fact, Hortense was Miss MacClachlin'a crib. " Quel
toupet!" said the butchers, and Hortense explained to
her mistress what this meant. "Thes are remarking on
my personal appearance," she aaid smiling. "It pleases
them."

"Indeed I" letorted Miss HacGlachlin with uncordial
surprise. She saw many of the maid's disqualifications.

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THE HEALERS

but she would not have included beauty among them.
Canny cieAture as ahe was, she nerer quite fathomed —
email shame to her — Hortense's genius for Bupeifluous
lies. Yet the only tiuie when the Frenchwoman very
Dearly got the sack was -wheat she tried to " get religion."

"You may break all the commandments, and yon do,
in my service, except the third," said Uisa MacClachlin.

"If mademoiselle," replied the heathen demurely,
" would give me a written list of her orders, I should
know what number she meant."

Maria heaved a sigh. Bhe bad long ago discovered that
her butcher boys thought all her illuminated Bible texts
were remarks (and promises) of her own, unless she put
" Jesus dit " above them. Things were so different in her
native village, where the drunkenest drunkard of than all
could repeat his " Shorter Catechism " backward.

"Uoie like Holland," said Thomaaine.

Not even on that terrible occasion when Hortenae, too
liberally treated by a trio of the chevaliers to absinthe,
gave out, instead of the hynm, the latest catch from the
boulevards, and the whole audience roared it before any-
one could stop them, not even on that occasion did Hiss
UacClachlin's pluck desert her. She waited till the up-
roar was over; then she rose, quiet, well-dressed, sub-
stantial, and handsome as ever. " Sit down," she said
sternly to the rollicking maid.

" El maintenong" she spake, raising her voice. " I
have shown you how the world sings. Now listen to me."
She had a very pure soprano. She sang amid breathless
silence, in the reeking, gas-lit hall, the French version of
a sweet home memory:

"iWz/ imueemondtiAtoiilUtatempUtt"

The words died down in lingering gentleness and
purity : " Peace, perfect peace I "

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THE HEALERS

"Et maintenong," said Mias HacClachliu, "what sort
of a song would 7011 like to liave suns over your grave? "

Hortense told everybody afterwards that she had acted
according to inBtructions, and Iforia, who was sure the
woman would do bo, wicked at the conrenient aud coa-
graial lie.

Hortense's adventnre with Xavier, though avowedlf
amuaitig, must be left unrecorded, for we cannot stray
too far in pursuit of so secondary a figure in this
chronicle as Hortense. Mise MacClaohlin had certainly
a right to be angry at the time, but, after all, as she
herself very sensibly remarked, if yoa advertise for an
Anomaly, you mustn't be annoyed when you get her. As
8 matter of fact, Hortense wiu dismissed shortly after the
absinthe business, and a nice sweet English widow of a
Chantilly groom secured in her place; but the booahaya
made such fun of the newcomer tiiat Hortense had to be
triumphantly reinstated. The widow's knowledge (certi-
fied) of argot proved confined to the racecourse, while
Hortense's extended, like her experience, over every form
of Paris slum. " The woman," said poor Miss KacGIach-
lin, " is a very encyclopedia of vice. But I have to turn
the pages." She cried a little once, and talked about
pitch, broken-hearted. Eenneth quoted Una, and ex-
plained his quotation.

" But it is all very well," said Maria. " Innocence may
pass unharmed through a forest of wild beasts, but not
through the streets of a Christian city."

With sudden want of Ic^c he reproached her for ex-
posing Thomasine to possible insult.

"Wo, no, they're not half as bad as you think 1" re-
plied Karia, in swift defense of her boys. " She will have
to endure very different treatment if she goes as gov-
erness into some rich manufactnrer'B house."

"She can't I She mayn't I She shan't I" he said vehe-
men^T.

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THE HEALERS

"Ton'n in love with her. Wliy don't you ask ber to
marry yon?" replied Uies MscOladiliii, with beaatiful
Bimplioity.

He made no reply, till lie said, in the dnlleet of tonee,
"Tou are pitilesB."

" On the contraiy, I am enrely the most generoua and
pitiful of rivals. Tou must juat allow me that, poor old
thing that I am, and then we will say no more about it."

" Ton know I have no right to marry."

" Bosh I So I told you once before, under circum-
stances which left no doubt as to my sincerity. If all of
us talked like you, the race would long ago have been
extinct."

" And a good thing, too," said Kenneth.

" That abo is bosh, and you know it. It is absolutely
correct from our human point of view, so the human
point of view must be wrong."

He laughed. "I should like to hear Ifademoiselle
Li SBC's opinion. Tou won't annoy her — will you,
please?"

"I will not. I have no appreciation for that sort of
humor. But I can give you ber opinion, if you like."

"What do you meanl"

"Her opinion would be 'yes.'"

"That I ought not to marry!"

" Oh, most modest of men ! — if modesty in a man were
over sincere — that you oughtn't to marry — another than
Thomasine Lisse."

" Tou have more aptitude for that sort of humor than
you give yourself credit for."

"Don't be rude, Kenneth Graye, and thereby prove
how much you are in earnest. Tou are in love with
her, and she is in love with you, and of course she can
become a governess, if yon likel" Hibb MacClachlin
slapped down her jeweled hands on her gray Batin knees.
"And the sooner, the better," she said.
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" Good niglit," said Kenneth. " Tou don't mind my
going home, do you t Fleaae tell Mademoiselle Lisse tluit
I am very sorry I've not been able to get those tickets
for the Private View to-morrow."

"So much the better," replied Mise MacClachlin with
great decision. " It isn't fair for a man who can't marry
— bosh I — to pay attention to a girl at all!"

With this final bitter pill in bis throat, half-choking
him, Kenneth journeyed all the long distance from BeUe-
yille to Auteuil. He was dead tired, and hoped to get to
his bed, but he found Edward waiting for him.

"Five minat«8' talk I" said Edward.

"All right. Is it important?"

"Tea."

" Wait a second while I get my pipe. Fire away I "

"I have had letters from Holland. All the uecessar;
papers have been got together. They want to £x the
date of the marriage."

" Quite so."

"They propose this day month."

"I congratulate yoo."

"Thanks. Kow about the difficulties."

"Tou mean my nephew) It remains an understood
thing that we join you at your country home in Holland,
and that he places himself entirely under your caie."

"Tee," said Edward thoughtfully.

" There is the difficulty of the wedding journey."

" There will be no wedding journey. lHy wife and I
will marry at Bardwyk and stay there, or come back here.
Laura has no wish to travel as a bride."

" But, in any case, you will want your honeymoon to
yourself. There can be no difficulty about that. My
nephew has sufficiently recovered."

" I want to talk to you about your nephew. I shall be
leaving for Leyden very soon. I want to talk to you
before I go."

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THE HEALERS

"Tea."

" He has sufficiently recovered from the operation, bat
he isn't re^ainin^ Htren^th."

" Well, so ; he has had an awful time. And he isn't
able to tell ua about it."

" I hardlj' know how to sa; what I want to say^— must
Bay. I ask myself how you will take it. TTiji has been
a most miserable life, Qraye."

"It has, but it's going to be more bearable now, isn't
it? Look here, what don't you feel up to telling me?"
Kenneth laid down his pipe. " Bpeak out, man ! Good
Heavens, Lisse, what's this! You don't mean to say
you're anxious about him!"

" I am Tery anxious about him. Sut not for anything
I could do or leave imdone. It hardly matters at this
moment whether I stay with biin or not It doetn't
matter, ot I'd stay, of course. The operation has been
succeasful, but the patient is losing strength."

"Hell pick up."

"I don't know. His vital energy is slowly sinking;
and that, after this long lapse of time, is certainly a very
discouraging symptom."

"Why, you mustn't lose courage now, Lissel"

" My dear fellow, just now I said, ' I don't know,' but
it's no use beating about the buah. I've tried everything
that can be tried."

"You think he is in a bad way?"

"I think be is in a very bad way."

"Do you want to tell me that he can't get better?"

" So the others think, Qraye. I can see that he is
very ill."

"But yon don't thick he has no chance?"

"I don't want to think it. I should like to aay,
'Where there is life there is hope.' But the otheia de-
clare that I am sanguine, unwilling to admit the truth,
as I naturally would be. I fear they are right. At any

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THE HEALEBS

rate, Ducrot insists upon m; t^ing you how the matter
etanda, before I leave, or else he would have told yoo
himself. He says I am running away."

"Ifs as bad as thatC* said Kenneth meditatiTel;.

" It ie vbsA the Froich call a deperittement, a slow but
certain decline. I cannot deny, Otaye, that he ie de-
Telopiug symptoms of what we call leukiemia."

"And that is inoarahlet" asked Kenneth.

" It is."

Kenneth took a few pulls at his pipe. Then he said:
" Thanks for telling me." He held out his hand. " Yon
haven't deeerrod this, Lisse." In the passage, as Edward
was getting on his coat: "Anj'— do you think — any
time t " began Kenneth.

"Ko doctor in the world could say," replied Edward.
" These things go in rushes and crawls."

"You are sui« nothing can be done!"

" Quite sure, or I should not move from here. 60 are
all the others who are watching the cue."

" Charcot ! "

"He agrees with Ducrot,"

"And we must wait like this? Weeks?"

" Possibly months. Or, again, I should not leave yon ■
for a day. But, after all, ;ou have far greater doctors
here than me. The greatest can do nothing for leukemia.
I shall return with my wife in a few days. We could
take your nephew to Bardwyk. The change of air would
only be beneficial — while it is feasible."

" Beneficial I "

" It might postpone," said Edward softly.

"Ah! You have not told your sister?"

" Certainly not. No one before you! "

"Oblige me, then, by keeping the secret still." The
bedroom door slipped from Kenneth's usually steady
hand; it slammed.

210

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CHAPTER XX

When Edward returned to Anteuil next morning be
just caught on Barton's shaTen maak a Taniehing e^icB-
sion of alarm. " l£r. Oraye left for London at day-
break," said Barton, smooth and steady; "I was to say,
air, he'd be back to-morrow night."

'"Tis still wintry for Buob travel," said Edward.

"It come very sudden, sir; important business. You
didn't notice as Mr. Qraye was looking illt"

"Not ill, only fagged, last night."

" Commotions is bad for tit. Oraye, sir."

" Why, BO they are for most men."

" Not in the same way. They tries Mm very terrible."

"He is undoubtedly nervous, but he has plenty of
stamina," replied Edward.

The nervousness would hardly have been credited by
those who saw Kenneth alight at Charing Cross. In spite
of oold weather and a rough-and-tumble crossing, the
young man had kept his clear complexion and his gen-
eral air of cultured prosperity and easy strength. Most
of us are fortunately schooled to hide our weaknesses,
but there is no surer proof of inherent health than a
bandbox appearance after a modem journey. In loose
ulster and flat cai^— the grotesque garb which even now
has not crushed all masculine vanity — ^he proceeded
through an oily haze of orange dirt, borne by a swift
and spattering hansom, away iuto unknown depths of
Bloomsbury. There he hid for that night in a little
family hotel, which nobody has ever heard of before or
since.

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THE HEALEES

The hiding, hoverer, included a good deal of loco-
motion througli the foggy atreeta. The firat move was a
Tiait to Dr. Gordon Scrubbe, whom the GrayeB have
habitually consulted. Scrubbe is one of those accom-
plished doctors whose waiting rooms are hung with
dubious Italian masters, mostly black. The blackest
stood on an easel under the smoky smirch of sky. The
doctor hurried in, wiping his lips from an unreasonably
late lunch, or perhaps it was an anticipatory dinner.
" Ziot me get you some tea," he said. " We doctors must
take our meals when we can."

" Thanks," said Kenneth. " It is (»rtainly long since
I tasted drinkable tea."

"You are in Paris still? We have all been immensely
interested by this wonderful operation. I was talking of
it only yesterday to Sir Jasper Dixon-Potts. 'Bemark-
able.' That was Sir Jasper's word — * Bemarkable.' And
we have no greater authority on the subject than Sir
Jasper Dixon-Potts."

" Tou approved of the idea when I wrote to you about
it. Don't let me interrupt your repast."

"Yes, I approved. Sir James is, I trust, doing well!"

" So, so. He continues very weak."

" That was what I feared. The strain I "

" But you said nothing about it when yoa wrote," pro-
tested Kenneth.

" I saw from your letter that you were anxious the
experiment should take place. And professional eti-
quette, you know — very difficult to express an opinion,
especially in another country. And Charcot is a great
name. So is Lisse."

"But it isn't ihe Lisse."

" So I understood." The doctor took another outlet.
"It isn't anxiety about Sir James that has brought
you here, I trust I There was always the risk of the
strain."

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" I hBve come here to ask jou — tlumkB, the tea is vei;
good — whether I ought to marry?"

"Eveiy man ought," Baid the doctor, who wai a
bachelot.

"I mean, you, who know my conetitution and my
family history, would you advise me not to marry! "

"What do you mean by your family history!"

" Uy brother committed suicide while temporarily in-
sane."

" [fhat waa the verdict"

" And his son is an idiot."

"And his father — your father — ^was an old-fashioned,
sound-headed country gentleman."

"Who married an Italian wife of whose relations we
know nothing."

" That proves him to have been more sentimental than
I have just given him credit for, but it does not prove
him to have been in any way deranged. In fact, he
wasn't. Not was Sir Bonald. We need not go into the
painful circumstanoeB of your brother's death. Th^ af-
fected Lady Graye so continuously — ^I may say so mor-
bidly — that I ascribe to her state of mind at the time the
condition of her son."

"My brother left a letter behind him saying he was
tired of life. He bad everything that makes life worth
living."

"I suppose so," said the doctor uncomfortably.

" Have you any explanation to offer! "

" If it will set your mind at rest, yes. But you must
not take offense, and, moreover, remember, I have no
proof,"

"Ton could hardly do me a greater favor."

" From a conversation we once had, I was led to con-
clude that your brother had taken a persistent dislike to
hia estimable wife."

" Surely that is unusuaL" '
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THE HEALERS

Dr. Scmbbe smiled. "I have no persoiial experience,"
he said.

"I meBn suicide on that account."

"Unusual, perhape, but in a BeoBitive man quite com'
prebensible, even to a bachelor. Nothing drives a man
to suicide like a daily vexation from which there is no
poesible chance ot escape."

"And you think my poor sister-in-law was all
that I"

" Bemember, you wished me to sjwBk plainly." The
doctor sat peeling an orange. " She was an extremely
sweet, religious woman, but her religion took the form
of universal disapprovaL Everything everybody ever did
was wrong."

Eenneth sighed. " I am hardly able to judge about my
brother; I was so young when he died. But he muat
have been a nervous man."

"He was a nervous man. So are you. It is the
Italian temperament in you. There ia no greater safe-
guard than nervousness against madness, by the bye, if
you happen to be afraid of that."

" Ah, the Italian temperament I " said Kenneth, slowly
rising to hie feet He stood hy the door. " This Sir
Jasper Dixon-Fotts?"

" Go and see him, by all means," replied Dr. Qordon
Scmbbe quickly. Kenneth fancied he reddened. " Hake
an appointment," said Scrubbs; "he lives in Manchester
Sq».n.»

"Is there an hereditary taint?" asked Sir Jasper, when
he had heard the preliminaries. Sir Jasper was a shadowy
man, white-faced, white-whiskered, white-waistcoated, sol-
emn. He made ten to twelve thousand a year out of
human insanity, just as so many of his colleagues make
similar amounts out of human imbecility. "Kobody
ought ever to marry when there is an hereditary taint."
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"My fatlier's family were hard-headed Bcotch people.
I beliere th^ ueed to drink a great deal,"

"Ah I" eaid Sir Jasper Dixon-Potts.

" But that was a general habit in former days."

"It explains much," said Sir Jasper pompously. It
explained thiee-quarters of his income !

" Uy father must have been more romantic than most
of hie kind, for he fell in love with an Italian, on a
trip to the lakes, and married her."

" There was no hereditary taint in your mothei's
family?" Sir Jasper crossed his thin hands over his
white waistcoat.

"I know nothing of my mother's family. She — she
was not socially my father's equal. She was as good as
she was beautiful."

" But there might have been a taint," said Sir Jasper.

"Tou think, then, that nobody ought to many," de-
manded Kenneth, with inconsistent irritation, "nnlees
he ia quite sure that there has never been a fool in hia
family?"

" I do not say that. My own children have married.
I mean, I could not afford them that certainty. But you
cannot exaggerate the importance of an hereditary taint.
By the bye, I see your name" — Sir Jasper looked
through his gold ey^lasses at his visitor's card. " This
nephew of yours, who is an idiot, does not happen by
any possibility to be the — eh) — ah? — ^the Sir James
Oraye in whose treatment we have all been so interaeted
of latel"

" Yes, that's my nephew," said Kenneth.

" Indeed ! Very remarkable, very remarkable ! I hope
the patient is progressing favorably."

"He is not gaining strength as we should have
wished."

"Ah, quite sol Well, Charcot is a very remariuble

man. The — the attempt is a very remarkable one. But

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THE HEALEES

the patient is not gaining, I tbiiik, you said, in
Btrejigtli y "

Kenneth acquiesced.

" I bad a painful case in my own family," continued
Sir Jaeper, " the ciTCumstances are well known, where I
Baw myself compelled to go contraiy to the wishes of
one very deat to me^ on account of an hereditary taint"

" Indeed," said Eeunetli, feeling for his fee.

"How my distingniahed colleague, Sir William Belt,
can write as he does, goes beyond me to understand t"
The white man, suddenly Tiracious, struck his lean fin-
gers viciously on a green review that lay by hia side.
" However, in medicine, as in all sciences, there must be
differences of opinion. Now, that operation — veiy re-
markable — three guineas. We could hardly have per-
formed it in England. Qood morning."

"You do not, then" — two hours had been spent in a
waiting room with yesterday's newspaper before Kenneth
got an opportunity of asking — " attach such supreme im-
portance to heredity, Sir William! "

Sir William was a cheery little man, brii^t and brisk.
He shot his sentences like volleys. " My dear sir, if one
lunatic condemned a race, how does anybody happen to
be outside Bedlam 1 "

"Still, I thought that modem science "

Sir William jumped round in his chair. " What, pray,
do you think was the mental condition of Adam when
he accepted the apple from Eve!" He waited to enjt^
the effect of this bis favorite shot. "If you consult
my dutinguiabed colleague. Sir Jasper Dixon-Potts, he
will tell you the only certain hereditary taint is mad-
ness. I cannot agree with him." He struck his fist,
with an angry little thump, on a blue review by his
side.

"I bave spoken to Sir Jasper Potts. He told me

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THE HEALEBS

about a oase in his own family; he said the oircutnstanceH
were well known "

" That was his daughter. He broke off her engagement
a few days before the wedding, because the bridegroom's
grandmother bad died of — or, rather, in — dementia se-
nilis; but he married her, a couple of years later, to a
man both of whose parents had been consumptive."

Kenneth opened hie eyes.

" I am not a mad-doctor. 'Sot a specialist at alL Ify
dear sir, I am speaking very frankly to you, because I
cannot let you ruin your whole future through a fad. K
the specialiats could all get their special legislation, no-
body would be allowed to marry whose aitcestora had died
of anything at all. There is no greater folly than this
heredity business, not because it may not exist, but be-
cause we know nothing about it. Just now we are
absolutely certain that tuberculosis is not transmissible,
but infectious. We are not so sure about the tendency
to cancer. Three years ago it was just the other way
round. Do not misunderstand me. I am far from decry-
ing the noble profession to which I have devoted my life,
but we've a lot to leam yet, my dear sir; and this talk
about heredity, at the present stage, is sheer cruelty,
thoughtless cruelty, as one can see in your case. Oht —
ah! — Three guineas. Ify best wishes. Qood afternoon."

In his hotel bedroom Kenneth found a letter which,
being marked "Immediate," had been sent back to Lon-
don by Barton at once on its arrival in Paris, It was
from the Orayes' cousin, Lady Clandonald, to whom be
had written a fortnight ago about governess-ships. She
was in town, and he went to see her at once.

"My dear Kenneth, you here!" The Oountess of

Clandonald was a fluSy little pink-and-white, doll-faced

creature, in laces. She had made a specialty of herself

by Buddhism, of which she knew absolutely nothing, and,

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THE HEALERS

wbile waiting for Kiirana, ehe contrived to apend more
than her huBband allowed her on tlie vanitiee of this
fleeting show. But ehe liked doing IdndneeBes that cost
you nothing, and she said Buddhism taught you to be
kind.

"Important business," replied Kenneth. "I go back
to-night."

" And how is that poor thingt "

"James is dreadfully weak. We are anxious about
him."

" I can't understand how you permitted that operation.
However, nobody can want him to live. You will make
a much better "

" Don't, please, Clara 1 "

"Oh, certainly! But surely it goes without saying.
Well, I wrote to yon to Paris — ^how tiresome! "

" It is about that letter I am come."

** Oh I I had a note from Mra. Coster this morning —
they are CosteT and Coster, you know, the great ship-
building people, fabulously rich. Would you ring for my
maid! You know, she picks up all my letters and sorts
them. I couldn't do it for myself."

" I wonder Donald allows you."

" Donald! I tell him he may thank his stars. Is there
another woman in London could drop all her letters about
for her maid to find! I haven't a key in my posseesion.
My purse and my check book lie in an open drawer. That
is the chief beauty of Buddhism: it teaches yon to ig-
nore all the vanities of life." She lay back in her blue-
and-silver boudoir; the diamonds flashed all about her
white satin evening gown. " Ellis," she said, " find me
that letter iriiich came this morning, in the big, scrawly
hand."

"I don't think I remember, my lady."

"Then look for it, please," said the countees sharply.

A hunt ensued, the maid vainly protesting that the
218

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letter had not yet come into her hands. Ultimately it
was diBGOvered in Lady Clandonald'a armchair, behind the
cushion against which she was leaning to complain.

" I am so glad to be of use," remarked Lady Clan-
donald. " Thia is what Hrs. Coster saya: 'Tea, I am
looking for a goTemese lor my three little girls, aged
respectively nine, seven, and four. I should like a nice
person, thoroughly respectable and refined. Of course,
all her belongings would have to be quite unexceptionable.
We should require firat-rate references from the British
Consul and one or two pastors of the Established Church
of the country, for one cannot be too particular now-
adays. She had better be diplomSe' — the woman has no
idea what it means — ' and we should expect her to teach
French, German, the usual English subjects, of coarse,
and the rudintents of Latin, algebra, a little Italian,
plain sewing, fancy work, elementary music, and draw-
ing; no singing or dancing, but she would have to do
calisthenica with the children, and lung exercises and
drill, and all the ordinary outdoor games. It is essential
that she should skate, and be gentle with children, and
sweet-tempered, but firm. Oh, I forgot — of course she
must be a Protestant, but not a Dissenter ' — how bigoted I
— 'as near Church of England as they have in their
country, please, and her French must be Parisian I ' "
Lady Glandonald put down the letter for a moment.
"Why, these people who don't know on from en always
persist in thinking that the Paris accent is the beet I "
She rraumed : " ' She would not be expected to come into
the drawing-room after dinner, unless we are quite alone,
when I should like her to read to me for an hour; or,
if her music is good, she might play to my husband; he
likes to be played to sleep after dinner.'"

"Is there any more!" asked £enneth.

" ]£y dear Kenneth, one can see you never corresponded
about a governess. There is a lot more. ' Her age should

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be preferably ' — she writes ' preferably ' with three t'fl —
'between twenty-five' — she has scratched that out and
put 'seven' — ^"and thirty-three. We should pay her
thirty-five guineas, and nice presents at Christmas ' "

" Thanks," said Kenneth on his feet. "A ^nea for
every year she has spent since her birth, getting ready for
Mrs. Coster's family."

"Do you think your young lady will do?" asked his
cousin sweetly.

"I fear not. She is only the most accomplished girl
I ever met, N'ot half enough accomplished to teach the
little Coster-mongers I"

" My dear Kenneth, you are quite unjust. I assure you
the letter is in no way unusual. Of course she doesn't
expect to get quite all she asks, but very nearly. And
the wages are very good I "

" Wages ! " bounced Kenneth.

"Yes, isn't that right! Oh, salary] How funny you
are! Why don't you keep this girl yourself, to teach
James, if he gets better 1"

"Why Hot, indeed? I dare say the Coster idiots are
not much better than he I "

" Tou onght to go in for Buddhism," said Lady Clan-
donald, smiling. "It would teach you to feel kindly
toward these poor rich slaves of wealth. Tou can't
think what a comfort it is to me, in our present-day
society, when all the horrid people have got all the
money, to think of them as hampered on their way to
Nirvana by these earthly possessions that other people
envy them. My poor aiater Dolgelly is crying her eyes
out because Jack has had losses. N'ow, if Donald were
to tell me that we must give up one of our places in
the country, I should not mind a bit I "

"I see I " said Kenneth.

"Won't you come and dine to-morrow?"

"I must leave for Fans to-night."

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"Well, it's no great loss. Our chef is ill, and the cook
does her best, but we miss poor Hippolyte sadly."

" After all," said Kenneth to himself as he was borne
through the orange miat of oily dirt by a swift and
splashy hansom, " a man could do worse for the giil
he loves than to reecue her from goremessdom and make
her Lady Qraye."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXT

A FEW days later the; carried Sir Jamea, amid all the
tiuuriouB diacomforts of modem travel, from Paria to
Bardvyk, and dropped him, more dead than alire, into
tlie Tefreabing peace of an earliest epringtide, the first
soft awakenings of nature, in a land of slow waters, low
meadows, and motionless trees. He lay with closed eyes,
Ter7 white, possibly dreaming.

It was Bncrot who almost drove him from the villa.
Dncrot was a good doctor, and by no means a bad man,
though a hard and fast monej-maker; but he naturally
didn't want people to die in the ^tablissement. As booq,
therefore, as the sum of future "pension" days grew
measurably small, the doctor recommended country air.
He was much annoyed at Edward's hesitations. Did his
eminent young colleague not recognize that a change
could be only " beneficial " f Well, did he, called away
by bis marriage — met compliments! — desire to confide
Bar Bbems to a rural practitioner, to some provincial
" Bains " f Edward shuddered at the idea of the provin-
(ual hydro. Who are the unfortunates that fill, with their
hopes and their woes, and their often slender purses, those
modem bagnios that are springing up like toadstools all
over our enervated world t

So the ten-percent commisuons were paid to the
various people who laid claim to them, on the fanciful
total fixed by those people tbemselvea. Edward, refusing
to ask anything like what they advised him, had just
enough left, after all demands bad been satisfied, to buy
a decent outfit at the Belle Jardiniere. It was rather

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THE HEALERS

hard oq him that Eenneth, ignorant of theee complica-
tions, Bhonld frankly declare dlsapproyal of the cut of the
Jardinidre clothes.

Mies MacGlachlin saw the party off from the gloomy
Gare du !Nord, the only gloomy spot in Paris — ^pre-
Bamafaly there hang about it, in the mist of its sunleas
name, every travelei^B dingy memories of departures for
dreary skiee. Miss MacClachlin was in everybody's way,
but that was not a thing she readily noticed. " I ahall be
there," she had told them all, " at fifteen minutes to the
hour, 'Punctuality,' saya Hortense, 'is the thief of
time.'"

Maria stood confiding to the preoccupied Kenneth her
fresh troubles with HortenBe, which must end in a mar-
riage with the shock-headed young butcher and a wine
shop. " And I shall have to provide the wine shop I "
lamented the old maid, " in the interests of morality. I,
who loathe wine shops! But she resolutely refuses to
marry him else."

"Well, you'll be rid of her; that's one comfort," sug-
gested Kenneth.

" Ye-e-es," hesitatingly responded Maria HacOlachlin.
" She managed them wonderfully, you know." The good
woric, without Hortense, looked practically hopeless.
Who but she could distinguish between drink and de-
Totednese, between emotion and hlague; who but she
could keep order at the distribution of prizes and pres-
ents, could calculate the amount of hot chocolate re-
quired, or explain how the chevaliers liked it made! "I
shall have to join you in Holland," said the poor lady.
"Have you got a society for the protection of animals,
there ? "

"We have," replied Thomasine, for Edward was more
than busy with the patient. They were on the platform,
the cumbersome saloon car alongside them. Barton, Ken-
neth, and a couple of brightly interested blue (

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THE HEALERS

Bionaires were lifting up, with much twietii^ and Bolici-
tude, the invalid in hia invalid chair. "We have,"
replied Thomesine, "bnt it doesn't Btop dogcarts. Ton
might come and try to do that."

" I dislike dogcarts," said llfaria in her decided manner,
"but goatshaje are worse. Besides, we shall never get
rid of cruelty for profit as long as we cannot even put
down cruelty for pleasure. Imagine what must be the
state of mind of people who, for pleasure, start hunting
an uncarted stag! 1 knew a woman, Thomasine, who
subscribed to the society, and who, three times a week,
raced after some poor little gasping fox — preserved — be-
cause she said the fox was ' vermin.' The toad ! "

"How terrible it is to travel with invalids I " remarked
Thomasine, watching the porters.

" But I sent back her subscription and paid it myself,"
said Uaria. " I couldn't strike her ofi the list."

"You must let me show you my father's defense of
vivisection. There's neither profit nor pleasure in that.
It's quite short and clear. It has been translated into
half a dozen languages."

"It will not convert me," said Uaria.

" Then nothing will," said Thomasine.

The central clock had come round to the moment of
final leave-takings. "En voiturel" said the guard for
the twentieth time, but now with the accent which must
be obeyed.

Ifaria MacClachlin shook hands slowly with Kenneth.
Then she came close to Thomasine, and put both arms
round her shoulders. " He lovea you 1 " she said ; and
that was the cnielest, sweetest thing Uaria UacClachlin
ever did.

On bis arrival at Bardwyk Edward found her wedding
present awaiting him. It was a bronze by Barrage, who
was then just coming into prominence, of a man with a
wounded boy in his arms. Doubtless Kenneth had helped

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THE HEALEK8

her about the conunission, which must have cost a con-
siderable sum. The man was vaguely like Edward, but
the boy was certainly not a bit like Sir Jamee.

Yet tlie idiot's countenance, as he lay there, motion-
less and wazen, had certainly lost in repuMTeneaa what
it had gained in repose. The tormented expression had
left it; the eyes, when he opened them, looked sad, not
sore, in the clear gray atmosphere of Holland, gray-green
with the prophetic shimmer of half-hidden buddings.
Edward cautiously let in more light on the ehrinking lids.
" See here, James," he said; " see how funny things look
in this country 1 "

One day the sick lad stared into the quiet, cloud-hung
sun. Two children in wooden shoes were solemnly tod-
dling along the canal beneath the poplara. He watched
them through the light and shade. Edward turned away
and hastened from the room. Presently Thomasine went
to look for him. "My God, if we could but save him I"
eaid Edward, and sobe were in his throat. He, the strong,
sensitive man, with the cool, firm hand, he could not
quite keep back at that moment the sobs that were choking

"Edward is emotional," said the professor; "he caiee
about his patients. He would never have done for my
sort of doctor, but as a psychiater he is excellent — oh,
first rate I" The professor had not been able quite to
forgive Edward ; he was doubly gentle with his son.

The professor had always maintained that there is no
such thing as psychiatry. No as yet discovered medicines
of any kind can minister to a mind diseased, nor can any
treatment in those cases, except a certain moral in-
fluence where the patient is not actually insane, have
laatii^ effect on a distracted aoul. He believed the more
devoutly in a possible scientific study of insanity — the
only one — by microbic investigation (" madness is an un-
discovered microbe"), and it was the more distressing to

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THE HEALERS

bim that Edward should torn away from this orJy hope
of reasonable achierement. The novel idea of the enigi-
cal treatm^it of idiocy (the putting straight, to lue faia
own expression, what had been badly built) eame, of
course, as a real relief to the scientifically minded father;
it was a next best thing ; it showed something like geniaa,
although the professor held surgery^ — a mechanical trad^
" sleight of hand " — in bat poor esteem.

"The progress of surgery in our day has been im-
mense," said the professor, "like the prt^ress of every
kind of machineiy. A sorgeon is a cutting machine. We
cut alt sorts of things, nowadays, that we should never
have cut before."

"And the sum of human suffering!" questioned the
baroness anxiously.

"la the greater," said, sadly, the professor.

He was eager to believe that his son was going to
prove a pioneer of supreme promiuencB in an unknown
field. He told himself and everybody else so repeatedly.
But in hia heart he knew there was only one I<^cal
method of investigating abnormity, and that was hie
own. "The worst of it is," he said, "you cannot study
insuiity in animals. Hind, my dear I" And as the
baroness bent, with tightly closed ears, over a price list
of house linoi, the baron semicolouised a rabbit's brain.

For the baroness was "helping" Laura to get things.
Eliza had flatly refused to give assistance, and threatened
to go. And in these days Eliza had to be treated ten-
derly, for her grief at her Jonker's marriage to the
"Witch" was by no means a humorous thing. During
a whole year she had prayed, twice daily, that the hoiue
Laura inhabited in Brussels might bum to the ground —
Laura's lady lived on the fifth story — and, the petition
not having met with acceptance, the Primitive Calvin-
iBt^s religious convictions were all gone higgledy-piggledy.
" I don't care who buys my tablecloths," said Laura, " as

bv Google

THE HEALERS

long as I may get xay ova frocks," for Laura was evei
accustomed to take the secondary difficulties of existence
qnite smoothly as they came. As soon as Eliza saw the
table linen the baroness had bought she r^wnted In sack-
cloth and ashes.

When the party from Paris arrived at Bardvyk, Lanra
was absent in Brussels, packing up and making pur-
chases. The Lisses were at Leyden; the big, old-
fashioned countiy house, awaking in silence, slowly
opened its sleepy eyes. It 8tan<b, square, lofty-roofed,
red-brick and green-shuttered, two hundred yar^ from
the wide canal against its own background of beeches. In
a gray south room, with tall windows up to the ceiling.
Sir James spent his silent days. He had not yet asked
for the lame lamb from Paris ; his attendants had, never-
theless, dragged it along with him, not daring to leave
it behind. Ill as he was, half-dead, imbecile, he remained
more than ever the center of interest, the unresting oc-
cupation of alL

" He wants mademoiselle, sir," said Barton, as Kenneth
looked up, inquiring, from his nephew's moans. The
boy had been brought out into the open, on the first mild
day of liquid sunshine; the soft air seemed to sink
caressingly around him, where he lay against a great
mass of rhododendron shmbs. So Thomasine, barely
absent, was recalled, and she and Kenneth sat, as th^
had sat before on various occasions, in silence and
thoughtfulnees, listening to any sound that rose upper-
most — ^the boy's breathing, the call of a bird.

"I can't get you a situation as a governess. I don't
advise you to go as a governess," Kenneth had said
brusquely. Somehow conversation had died down be-
tween them of late. They used to have such quantities to
talk about. Wow, Miss MacCIachlin's substantial pres-
ence had an unpleasant habit of turning up, mentally,
Ajji] damming the stream at its start In the room, by
22Y

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the invalid, the; woiild often eit far apart, eacli with a
book. To-day, in the open air for the first time, the boy
seemed disconcerted; he called them, with that strange
little call of his, drawing them close to him, closer, beck-
oning, pressing, appealing, desirous to feel them against
him, each on a side, clasping suddenly, in his ungainly
clasp, a reluctant hand of each. Brawn down beside him,
they hardly dared to stir, their faces, as it seemed to
thsm, almost touching, fixedly turning away to right and
left, lest too consciously their glances should meet. Over
the dull soil around them spring was spreading her first
shades of fresh color; in the grim blackness of gaunt
daks and cheetnuts a vague mist arose of coming life.
Here and there behind the network of naked branches the
russet beech leaves shone like sulphured flames. A silver
light was on the broider; of the pinewoods; across the
shining masses of the laurels the early gossamers sparkled
and swung.

The gray sky still stretched pale above the pale gray
landscape, but through all living things, that in the wear-
ing winter sleep had lost their beauty, strength, and glad-
ness, thrilled silently the first faint promise of awakening,
of new vigor, new budding, new verdure, new youth.

"He looks very feeble I" said Thomasine.

" Yes," answered Kenneth, not in the happiest of tones.

Her eyes turned involuntarily toward him; she glanced
quickly away. — " Still, with this great improvement of
the shape of the skull, the face also has altered; don't
you think soi It has been — humanized."

" True. Sometimes it seems to me as if that soul my
poor sister-in-law was always praying for had almost
struggled into the eyes."

Thomasine was silent. Stealing a glance at her, as
she sat there close beside him, he saw that a bright drop
lay motionless on the bloom of her maiden cheek. Across
the ragged wintry grass before them a couple of black-

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THE HEALEBS

birds hopped, big and glossy; tbey pecked about, right
and left, reatlesaiy, in eilence, in expectation, like all the
reet of the world.

"How still it all is)" said Thomasine, oppressed.

"It is waiting to burst into Bong," he replied.

Other blackbiide alighted among the bushes, and a
twittering of finches sounded feebly in the twige of the
taller trees.

The idiot stirred without opening his eyes. His fin-
gers clutched convnlBiTely the hands of his tvo pro-
tectoie; he drew them together in the grasp of his own.
A ray of sunlight, from where the clouds seemed parting,
had played across his countenance; he did not shrink
from it, apparently, as of yore. Aa the radiance of it
broke across the gossamers, and the shining green leaves
and the russet beech woods, the birds hidden among the
branches chirped and flattered aloud. The dull canal
gleamed in the distance. A flight of white doves swept
down, strutting upon the lawn. Kenneth's hand, that lay
inclosed over Thomaaine's palm, pressed it, and timidly,
with sweet hesitation, she recognized and returned the
touch.

When James lifted his listless eyes from the slumber
that had fallen upon them, his first thought was of f or-
lomnees, desertion — of hands left unwarmed, untouched.
His fingers lay loose; he felt this before he saw his two
former companions, a few paces away from him, very
close together, their heads bent, almost touching — not
forlorn, not deserted, these two. As he watched them, in
the dim light of his senses, their lips met. How much
he realized it woiJd be impossible to say. He loved his
Fnole Kenneth, the man who, like Barton, yet different,
above, not below, himself, was always with him and al-
wa^ kind; and he warmed to the friendly presence of the
girl with the "angel" face. He dosed hie eyes again,
wearily, and lay softly weeping.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXn

" Let bim eleepl " said Kenneth, awaking. If, at leaat,
it be awaking to pass from dreams of love to the knowl- '
edge that they are dreams no longer. His heart was full
of facts, of the truths he had been repeating to Thom-
asine, all the ezquieite truths his touch of the hand had
revealed before his lips could utter them, all the ex-
quisite truths she had guessed, had known, was yearning
to hear again. Simple trutha that take such a world of
telling 1 — the only human trutha, when the poor little
8um is made, worth living and dying fori

" Hush 1 he isn't asleep," said Thomasine^ She rose and
went back to James and stood gazing down on him.
Presently she stooped and softly kissed him on the brow.

"Oh, don't I" exclaimed Kenneth involuntarily. He
flushed crimson with vexation at himself. She turned
toward him big, innocent, wondering eyes.

A rush of wheels was heard along the drive on the
farther side of the house.

" Already i" cried Kenneth in amazement.

"Yes," replied Thomasine. "It must be Edward and
Laura."

For Laura was expected from Leyden to visit the new
arrivals in what was so soon to become her home, her
own house. They hastened to nteet her, but already she
had come round through the gardena toward them,
blooming in her Eastern beauty, and her brilliant cloth-
ing, and her radiant happiness, with her bridegroom be-
hind her — her bridegroom, elated, eager to rejoice over
this first welcome of his bride to his birthplace, yet

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THE HEALERS

saddened, in the veiy heart of him, bj the deepening
shadow of an inavertible fate. Lanra'a most anxious
fiist look was for the patient. She started back from his
waxen face; her eyes turned with swift fondness of re-
proach to Edward. The shrug of his shoidders made
answer, "Why sadden you without avail?"

She had knelt beside James. He seemed in a sort of
faint, or perhaps he was merely too worn out to notice
. her. Very gently she pasBed her hand over his forehead,
again and again and again. "Don't you know me?" she
rqieated. "Don't you know me, James?" He nodded
laboriously. And again she passed her hand orer his
forehead. " Bleep," she said. " You must sleep. You
must sleep 1 "

From that day began, unexpectedly to all, most un-
expectedly to herself, Laura's care of James Graye. Even
her wedding barely interrupted it — the fussy, floweiy
wedding, exactly like everybody else's, as are all weddings,
only more bo. After all, how could a wedding be differ-
ent from itself, or why should it I Why should it, as an
institution, show more variety than the marriage state
which follows it? As long as the civilized world exists
we shall have to endure the limitations of both.

The professor, while declaring the ceremonies and fes-
tivities to be in no wise scientifically connected with the
object in view, enjoyed them satisfactorily. The baron-
ess read a poem at which nobody laughed.

The marriage took place, aft«r all, at Leyden, on ac-
count of James's condition, and immediately afterwards
Edward carried off his wife to the quiet home at Bard-
wyk, which the marriage contract had assigned to her by
purchase as henceforth l^ally hers.

The colonel, looking up from much abashment, had

declared himself quite unfit to arrange settlements for

heiresses. "Hy dear, I am not a man of busineas. By

no means," he said in agitated tones. "I was all right

231

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THE HEALERS

aa guardian of a pauper ward. I beg your pardon," he
corrected himself, flouudered. " I mean your father gave
me to understand "

" Oh, what does it matter. Uncle Frank ! " said Laura.
" Let Edward have a§ much of the money as he wants."

"And pray, how are we to know how much he wantBt"

" Oh, ask himl " said Laura. She yawned, and, sinking
back upon the tiger skin, she added, with an enormous
chocolate between her pearly teeth, " There will always
be enough for my sweets."

"But this business of the transfer of Bardwyk?"

"Yes, that is very important. We are going to have
sick people there, and make them well."

"I understand nothing about the matter," said the
colonel, very red in the face. "But never mind; I am
going to the East as soon as this tiresome fuss is over,
and I hope to be killed for the cause of my king." The
unexpected alliteration greatly caught his fancy. He re-
peated with a relish l " To be killed for the cause of my
king. It's all I'm good for," he added sadly. He felt
more than anyone imagined the ruin he had brought upon
his brother, the sale of the family inheritance to Laura,
who was all very well, but an Oriental, and only the
wife of a Lisse. But his mustaches curled up as fiercely
as ever, so the baroness feared he didn't care. " Are yoa
going to have infectious people!" be said, bobbing up
and down, " from the slums f "

"No, no — Edward's patients, the sort he will care
about, the mentally afflicted."

"Idiots I" said the colonel, "all over the old home. I
suppose I've no right to object, being the only fool in the

Laura eyed him languidly. "What is a foolf" ehe
said. "I haven't the faintest idee."

" A fool IB a man who meddles with what he doesn't
understand."

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THE HEALERS

"Then are we all fools," said Laura.

"Or, rather, who tries to do what he knows can't
succeed."

" Then was Christ a fool," said Laura gravelf.

But this was beyond the colonel's depth; and as Laura
drew forth another bonbon, he said : " Well, I was a
fool, at any rate. Never mind about the other fools."

" There will not be any at Bardwyk," reasoned Laura
complacently. "We shall only take three or four of
Edward's most Interesting cases, sudi as James Oraye."

" And your children ! " he exclaimed, actually mmplinf
his hair. "Are those going to live with the idiots?"

Laura pretended not to have heard him.

"What, pray,, is to became of your children t"

" Uncle Frank," replied Laura, rather impertinently,
" let us talk of the state of the country. Have a sweet t "

"Laura," cried Uncle Francis passionately — ^he rose
and planted himself in front of her— "you tntut have
children, mind I I insist on it. It would be dishonor-
able, otherwise, this transfer of Bardwyk to you and your
heirsi I should never consent! "

Bhe lifted her eyes to hia. " Yea, uncle, yes I " she said
soothingly. "Why, if you could only see your hairt
Tou neat man, you look almost like the professor I Mind
you don't get quite killed in Acheen, please, uncle. Come
hack here to defend the king against the anarchists I "

" Alchine, Alhmagne. Anarchiel" vociferated TInele
Francis delightedly. Yet he disliked having to do his
combinations in French, for the use of that language,
however frequent colloquially in his circle, still indicated
a limitation io this particular case. " Our three foes I
And the greatest of these is anarchy."

" We at Bardwyk, we shall only fight imbecility," said
Laura.

" The most difficult of aU," leplied Uncle Frank, He
shook his head, while endeavoring to smooth it. Hia

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THE HEALERS

thouglita were of Abrabama, and the npe and dovne of
petrol and an uncertain banking account.

Laura then devoted henelf to the first " imbecile " on
hand. And the neaieet dut;, vith this case, vas cer-
tainly either to let the boy die in peace or to keep him
from dying. "Let me tiy — let me try to do the latter 1 "
pleaded Laura.

Her husband kieeed her hand.

Yet after a time he was compelled to admit that, as in
his father's illness, some sort of health-giving influence,
tranquilizing, invigorating, was conveyed by the mag-
netic passes, in a manner as yet unexplained, from the
stronger natare to the weaker, from the healthy to the
sick. James Oraye's life current, that had Beemed ooring
away, feebly rallied, hesitated, fluctuated, and very slowly
began welling back. The usual doctors' remedies, that
had remained so ineffectual, suddenly caught on. The
lessening pulse grew clearer; the heart steadied. "He is
turning the comer," said Edward, with bated breath.
Husband and wife worked together. "I would give my
right hand to understand I " exclaimed Edward impetu-
ously. " Keep it and believe," replied Laura. " There
are more things in heaven and earth "

Edward struck his fiat on the table : " It isn't true,"
be cried, " only we must give philosophy time."

"And meanwhile t"

" Meanwhile we may use what we can't explain,"

The patient's constitution was by nature robust; his
build was of best Scotch bone and sinew, unhampered,
in this case, l^ Scotch brain. His body, for the present,
had nothing to do but to get better, and, once pointed in
the proper direction, it steered serenely, if very slowly,
toward the goaL

Till that glorious day when in the full spring bright-
ness, the green and white freshness of foliage and bloa-
som, with the call of the chaffinches and thrushes all
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around him, and the sailing clouds overhead, he seemed
suddenly to regain poBsession of his half-forgotten per-
sonality, Buch as it had been, as if a brown twig had
faintly budded, with a touch of color, in his heart. As
his physical strength returned to him, it became manifest
that he could use bia imgalnly limbe with far greater esse
than before the opeietion; they even seemed gradually
to fit more correctly into bis body, and, through it, into
the brain, as if the strings in the puppet we all are were
pulled taut. Evidently the central controlling power had
somewhat righted itself; it could work.

"Have you noticed, Mr. Lisse," asked Barton, "that
Sir James always sets his foot where he wants to set
it now?"

"I have, Barton," replied Edward in a low voice.

"And what do you say to that; Kr. Lisse, if I may
be so free to aakl "

"I say, thank Ood, Barton."

" Thank you, Mr. Lisse."

On the spring day in question James sat gazing at the
Btretcb of young green grass. By the mute comprehen-
sion already referred to Barton brought him his lame
Iamb, now grown into a sheep, neglected since the opera-
tion. It stumbled about and nibbled the blades and then
set to eating steadily. Presumably, in its own way, it
was as happy as it could be. It lifted its head and
bleated.

The other dumb creature, watching it, sat solemn and
BtilL Suddenly, and with evident effort, he said, " Ma t "

Edward caught Laura's hand and clasped it tight He
felt her trembling from head to foot.

The next moment, after a painful pause, the idiot
uttered the same sound again — and then again and again,
struj^liug to get it correctly, to speak it with greater
ease. The song of the birds rang louder, and a rustling
cauf^t the trees.. From the distance sounded, discordant,
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THE HEALEE8

a qnBirdBome cawing of rooks. Through it all the idiot
continued his £iBt articulate utterance, the fiist more-
ment of infant lips. The aheep, indiffeient, echoed it.

"Supposing he could say something elael" whispered
Laura.

" Ko," replied her husband. He slipped round to Bar-
ton, whose mask seemed to have come off, and bade him,
in a few hasty words, take no notice, make no change.
" Ko experiments, above all, at this moment," he said ;
then, with a heart full to bursting, he hurried away.

Into the open, into solitude, into communion with na-
ture only; but halfway down the evergreen walk he ran
up — at the bend — against Kenneth.

"What's the matter?" said Kenneth.

" What makes you ask ? "

"The holiday look in your eyesl"

" Tou are a poet, Krainetb."

Oraye knocked the ashes out of his pipe. " Not that,"
he said, " but the dullest of us learn to see it's a workaday
world,"

"Well, there are high days in it; you are right." Ed-
ward strode a few paces down the path and came back
again. " Kenneth I Kenneth 1 " — his eyes shone indeed —
" James has uttered an articulate sound I He has imi-
tated his sheep. He — ^he — ^you see what that means ! My
whole theory is coming true I Bit by bit it is com-
ing — ^has come truet Just as I saw it must be from
the first, when he was miserable, and shut his eyes,
and wanted doctors I He can look into the light now,
and he can move bis limbs as he wishes, and he is be-
ginning to control bis organs of ^>eech. The compressed
brain can work. And the soul in him above all — ob,
above all! — can stand up, and can open a window, and
can hold out a hand to those outside. Kenneth I Ken-
neth I My Ood, what a wonderful thing to have hap-
pened 1 liie soul in him has broken through I "

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THE HEALERS

Eenneth stood contemplating liis empty pipe.

" And now, eince I<aura came," continued Edward, " we
— ^we have haidly daied to 887 It to one another, but we
must all have perceived that he is gaining in atiength."

"Ton said it was impoaaible he conld livel" cried
Kenneth.

"Absolutely impossible from the medical point of
viewl The Academy would say he had no right to Uvel
They would declare him ofBcIally dead already I " laughed
Edward ioyoosly.

Kenneth stood motionless, contemplating his pipe.

" I must not exaggerate," Edward went on. " He will
never be like other men; the undeveloped condition of the
brain proved that. It will not develop, as with hydro-
cephalus in infancy. But, at least, he will not suffer,
and he will be able to use what he has got. And we shall
be able to share his life somewhat I "

Kenneth lifted his eyes from the black bowl of the
pipe, and fixed them full on Edward.

" I deserve to be kicked," he said.

Edward fell back a pace. "What do you meant Oh,
because you objected to the operation! What nonsense,
Kenneth; you were right. And if it hadn't been
for Laura, we should all have known how right you
were I "

" Yes, I objected, because of the danger, you remember
that ! " cried Kenneth.

" Of course I remember. How disturbed you look ! It's
my fault for having sprung the thing on you like this,
but I couldn't keep it back. You have your reward,
Giaye, after all these years of devotion. You have real-
ized your promise to his mother in the end t "

"I have asked your sister to marry me, and she has
consented," said Graye. The pipe dropped from his fin-
gers; he stooped to pick it up.

" I — I — well, Fm veiy glad," answered Edward heartily.

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" I persuaded ber, much against her will, to wait, and
not speak about the matter to her parents until — You
see, I didn't want to have this — She left for. Leyden the
day after, and I haven't seen her since, except just at the
wedding — and I didn't want to have this matter dis-
cussed while — while James was so ill."

"But you have corresponded f"

"No; she would not allow that, until I had spoken to
your father. And, you see, Lisse, I had nothing to offer
your father. I ought to be kicked for having thought
of the thing, much more for speaking of it; but how
can I help myself! I don't want to blame you, LIsse,
and it's very hard on you, for she's your own sister, but
I wish to Heaven you had been a little less positive — for
her sake I "

"I shall not pretend to misunderstand you," said Ed-
ward. "Tou mean that you are poor?"

"I am poor. Worse than that, I am my nephew's life-
long nurse and guardian. As such, I can share his home,
but I have no right to condemn any woman to the same
fate."

" It is the fate the wife desires," said Edward reassur-
ingly.

But Kenneth did not answer. He stood in the middle
of the pine walk, staring ahead.

" You can leave her to decide," suggested Edward.

"It is not the same thing now," said the other dully.
"I — I have stolen a march on her. She is no longer
free. And yet, God knows I have never grudged James
one moment of Mb life! Not II Not 1 1 And that this
should fall on me I It is unjust, Edward. The gods
that make sport of ua are unjust. I deserve plenty of
punishment— most of us do— but not, not the appearance
of regretting James Graye's recovery — not that, not that 1
It makes me look like a cad. Every word I say makes
me look more like a cad. And I don't deserve ■* not.

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Bt least, as regards this. But I had no right to ask her.
I had no right — I had no right."

"You had the right of cvbtj man to whom a woman
Ba^s 708," replied Edvard.

" Not when the woman doesn't know,"

" Tou strangely misjudge the girl you have asked to
marry ;ou," said Edward, " if you think she would be
influenced by such considerations as these." His tone
was less cordial; something had got into it of the Baron
Lisse.

Kenneth veered romid in the path. His eyes were
blaring; his whole face was distTsught. "You're a mad-
doctor," he cried; "can't you see if a man'll ever go
mad?"

"No," replied Edward quickly, "but one of the beet
safeguards is his fancying it long befordiand." He
paused; then, very gently: "Ton are overexcited, Graye.
I have seen you like this once before. Bnt nervousness
and excitability are not madneas. We will talk it over.
We can hear what my father says."

" I had no right," answered Kenneth.

"At any rate, the wrong is now done. Yon have a
right to face that fact."

"It was James's doing, too," said Kenneth, with a
Borry amlle.

"Would you have it undone t"

" No, by Heaven I "

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CHAPTER TTTrTTT

The professor emileB at heredity. At the most, there
mflj be, BB yet Bcientificall; nnproTable, a certain pre-
disposition. But this predispoBition is balanced by
palpable divergence ia all sorts of ways. And as for
reversion to anterior types or inheritance from some un*
known somebody far up the line, the professor stops
smiling and begins to frown. "Last week," he says, "I
had to be present at a great academic event; we had
Saxheim, the famous Saxheim from WiirEburg, He
proved to us that nobody ever died of anything tiiat
somebody between him and Adam hadn't died of before.
There was some little difficulty about modem diseases,
such as the nervous breakdown, for instance, caused fay
excess of traveling in trains. But the difficulty is only
imaginary — I may say, captious; for it appears that a
fossil locomotive has been discovered in a prehistoric
cavel Ahem, Jane I"

"Tee, my dear," says the baronesB, knitting in jerks.
"My grandmother died of eating an apple."

" That, my dear, if I understand my Bible aright, was
the common cause of death for us all. It is a great re-
sponsibility for our grandmother."

" A bit of it stuck in her throat," said the baroness.

"It has stuck in oura ever since," replied the pro-
fessor. " I see you agree with the great Saxheim."

" Who was he ) " asked the baroness.

"You don't listen to me as you used to," replied the

baron, annoyed. " Ifot that it matters, for Saxheim is

wrong. Disease is a microbe ; the whole future lies there.

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THE HEALEBS

Th^ will get to it in time. A malfonnatioii or a
microbe. Mental disease as well as the rest. All the
nonmicrobic nerrosities and eccentricities are abnormal,
just as fou and I are abnonnal, like everybody else, but
they have nothing in common with disease. Uadneea is
a deterioration of the brain — take the commonest form —
megalomania: an illness induced by a microbe. Nobody
was ever bom mad, as they would be if it was a hereditary
thing. And idiocy is a malformation. Look at Edward!
Very intereeting, Edward. But of secondary importance.
The Semicolon serum will cure all disease some day I"
The professor sighed.

"Ton should hear Laura," said Edward, laughing,
when the professor repeated all this to hiro. " All disease
is lack of vital energy. Increase the vital energy and
Nature will heal herself."

" I did not know that Laura was a scientific authority,"
remarked the baronesa.

"But she has done some people a lot of unscientific
good," interposed the professor hastily. "I do not see
why the vital energy should not combat the microbe. It
naturally would. I trust some method may be discov-
ered of increasing and controlling it scientifically."

" That will never be the case," replied Edward, " until
we doctors investigate the various quackeries with which
we are at present resolved to have nothing to do."

" In my seventh canto," declared his mother, " the court
physicians are powerless to pacify the disconcerted king,
but Liriam puts him to sleep by tickling his nose with a
peacock's feather."

" But that would wake him I " protested Jane, the sec-
ond daughter, freshly home from the measles, and schooL

"Jane, you are pert — and ignorant. The two go to-
gether. Where, pray, would the marvelous element come
in, if it woke him! Thomadne would never have made
Buch a remark. When she spoke, it was to admire ju-
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THE HEALERS

diciously. And, anyvay, her haadwritine was much
clearer than youra. I shall greatl; misa Thomaeine."

But motheiB hare to miss their daughters. Before the
golden summer glories had paled, Kenneth Qiaje had
carried off his Dutch bride from the land of mead and
dyke. In the face of Edward's attitude and the pro-
fessor's utterances he could not but accept gladly the
happiness that fate had played into his hands. They
forbade him to speak of the matter to Thomaaine, nor,
indeed, had he any serious intention of doing her such
iniuiy. " Your future will be looking after James," was
all he said to her, a little bitterly. " And after £enneth
Oraye," she answered laughing.

For the present James remained at Bardwyk. Under
constant and devoted teaching the afflicted lad was
gradually achieving utterance, as of a little child. He
knew, of course, the words which had alwa^ been spoken
to him, a very limited vocabulary, in the days when he
could not reply. The difficultj was for him to hunt these
up in his dull brain, to sort them correctly, to utter them.
And it then became apparent that he had formed mis-
taken conceptione . of many abstract words, habitually
misapplying some lightly used term. "Good" was, ac-
cording to his impression, whatever was agreeable to
James — ^not such a fool, either! Therefore, when Bar-
ton or Uncle Kenneth had spoken to him of a "good
doctor," and that doctor had hurt him (Edward had
never hurt him excepting under chloroform), then the
uncle or the servant had lied. The honible discovery was
made that he disbelieved these bis faithful caretakers
utterly on that account. He liked them for the creature
comforts with which they had always supplied him, but
he distrusted them profoundly. As a result of his
mother's persistent teaching, the word " angel " had stuck
in his head for whatever was beautiful and pure. He
spoke of Laura and Thomaaine, when he was able to

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THE HEALERS

speak so much, ae " angel." But a Bplendid, white birth-
day blancmange was not only "good," but "angel" also.
He had a distressing way of muddling up these eynonymB,
as when he infonoed the baroness (who whb dreadfully
afraid of him) that Laura was " pudding," meaning
" angel " via blancmange. So with infinite patiemse the;
had to unravel him. One day the baroness — womanly
sympathy having somewhat conquered her . aversion —
after full avowal to Edward, hung her precious amulet
around the idiof s neck. He was delighted with it. He
said "Dolly" was pudding and angel, and Uammie
Xiaurie as well. But as he gradually developed, he grew
to distinguish between this " Dolly " and Laura, his su-
preme favorite, his ruler and mistress, until a moment
came when be definitely transferred bis synonym of the
Virgin from " Uaminie Laurie " to the leas known Thom-
asine. Of Ood, of any higher being, it became evident
that he knew or understood absolutely nothing. All his
mother's teaching and yearning on these subjects had been
in vain. His requirements were terrestrial, his divinities
human. Edward had expected his weak intellect to prove
exceedingly susceptible of hypnotic suggeetitm. But,
with the irregularity which diaracterizes these imper-
fectly understood symptoms, it was soon manifest that
he could be hypnotiEed into doing all sorts of things, but
not into comprehending anything; that is to say, when
the hypnotic influence was removed it left no after-
effects. During the trance he could repeat whatever
Edward bade him. As soon as he r^ained his own
personality he knew no more than before. I^ura's " mag-
netism " suggested nothing, but merely seemed to develop
his insofiScient natural force. The baroness said they
must teach him that the soul is immortah " Has he got
a Boult" questioned the unwary professor. The lady laid
down her pen. "Do you think," she demanded scath-
ingly, "that the living soul is a Semicolon t"
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THE HEALERS

"No," replied the professor, "sor the dead one a fnll
stop. Hind I "

The epirit, tlien, of James Graje lemsined void of an;
higher considerations than " good," which is pleasant, and
"angel," which is fair. But into it there crept, from
some undefined source, unbidden, a craring to impart
unto others. It was his first manifestation of virtue, ex-
travagant but sincere.

James Oraye sat on an old white bench, in the golden
summer aunset, among' the crimson roses. The evening
was silent ; a single star shone higli in the western heaven.
Laura bad left him, swept from bis side b; a etidden
breakdown of weariness and tears, after vain attempts —
how frequently renewed! — to make him feel something of
the majeatir of a world beyond our own. She had told
faim again of the Creator, the great Source of all good
gifts. In the midst of her brief explanation he had
pointed his finger at her. She had run away to hide her
chagrin. He was alone. A couple of weeks ago Barton,
the faithful, loquacious domestic, had astonished them all
by breaking down silently, completely, choosing the mo-
ment when his charge bf^an definitely to improve. He
had been sent away to recuperate. The only English-
speaking servant procurable, a former hotel waiter, was
not really fitted for the place. James, always sensitive
as to his surroundings, had an odd way of motioning this
pale-faced attendant toward the house: "HI I 111 I Go
to bye-bye I "

He was alone, then, on the Bummer evening, in the
sunset. The tramp who had crept up round the laurel
bushes stood watching him, wondering. The tramp knew
of rich people, from a distance, and of poor people, many
of ^om were unfortunate. He had no experience of
James Graye. Of the two, however. Sir James was by
far the most bewildered, for he had never as yet come
into contact with any human being from the outside
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THE HEALEBB

world. Ijx fact, the tramp was his first acquaintance.
The; gazed at each other for a few moments in interasted
silence. The tramp was not a prepossessing object, being
bottle-nosed, lantern-jawed, and weather-beaten, with a
straggly gray beard and a battered tall hat. But James,
with bis white, thin, terrier face and ungainly limbs, al-
though much more correctly composed than in former
daya, was not exactly an attractive figure either. The
tramp, having proffered much voluble inf onnation about
his own ailments and those of bis numerous orphan chil-
dren, in Dutch, without extracting any reply, came to
the conclusion that the afflicted young gentleman must
be deaf and dumb. He therefore desisted, and producing
penholders and sheets of note paper from his wallet,
spread these out on the garden table in mute appeal.

James knew nothing of purchase, or of money, or of
writing. The ornamental sheets were garlanded with
flowers in the old-fashioned manner, great embossed crim-
son rosea in silver filigree, splendidly gay. These magnifi-
cent objects were a present from the stranger. The lad's
heart warmed with a sudden glow of affection to this
first unknown creature he met, who thus paused to give
him beautiful things. A window, indeed — to use Ed-
ward's expression — flung open in his cramped heart,
toward the world; the world was loving and kind. He
had often, of late, since bis eyes no longer pained him,
watched the figures passing along the road l^ the canal,
the horses and carts, the oddly dressed villagers, the chil-
dren. They were far away, like pictures on the wall.
ITow, suddenly, one of them was with him, inside his
existence, giving gifts. This, then, was the intercourse
of human beings; all were "good" to each other, except
such doctors as hurt. He got up, laboriously still, and
dragging from tree to tree, he gathered a quantity of the
huge red roses all around him — ^he had always been en-
couraged to pick flowers — and, advancing, preeented his

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annful, in a great msee of beant; and fragvance, to the
tramp.

" Huh! " aaid the tramp.

Thie James undentood, and he colored. He knew that
his poor offering of things that grew of themeelrea and
faded was not to be compared to the immortal splendor
of silrer and scarlet which the risitor had conferred npon
him, but he had given of faia beet. He was not the fortu-
nate posseeeoT of a wallet full of treasures to give away.

But the tramp understood quickly enough that the poor
young fellow wanted to give him something; thereupon
he promptly pointed to his shockdng bad boots. Sir
James's eyes followed the indication. He understood at
once. What boots to walk about in, hurting one's feet I
He had plenty of others at home. In a moment, letting
all his roees fall around him, he was down on the ground,
dragging off his shoes.

They £tted the tramp beautifully. The next moment,
however, James was pulling away at his jacket. His
waistcoat and trousers followed. The tramp faeutated,
casting suspicione glances right and left. There was no-
body in sight. The evening was falling. The clothes
were an exodlent, most serviceable gray tweed.

Had the tramp, with the clothes on his arm, paused
to gather up his sheets of paper and penholders, there
would have been an end, in fierce disilluaionment, of
James Graye's religion of love. The man turned to do
the deed. But a titmouse which had been hanging on to a
twig, when it ought to have been in bed, lost its sleepy
hold and flattered away through the branches. The man
started, and ran. Thus a titmouse became the savior of
Jamee Graye's soul.

The man, as he turned and fled, lost the battered old
chimney-pot, and, flinging out his hand in a futile at-
tempt to recover it, dashed the thing on to iba table,
where he left it to its fate. In this action James saw a
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fteah impulse of generosity. When Edward and Laura
came along the winding path to look for him under the
soft summer shadows, linked arm in arm and heart to
heart in the sweetest and closest communion, the; found
the patient sitting in his underclothing, with the tramp's
bat placed reverently on hia head. The boy's eyee were
fixed on the stars with a calm and grateful gaze. It
would savor of irreverence even to mention here what
idea of supernal reverence had forced itself into the
mists of his soul from the conception he had formed of
the tramp. The natural attentions of his caretakers had
never brought home to him the idea of disinterested lov-
ing kindness, love for love's sake. He now first under-
stood that all these thousands of the great world outside
him lived in charity and good feeling; their contact
meant love. His whole soul was glowing with brotherly
love. To do unto others as you would have them do
unto you, this was the whole intercourse of the race-
Surely it is worth sixteen years of imbecility to awaken
into such a milleuuium as that I

The alarmed and distressed questionings of his guar-
dians he met with one reiterated, tranquilidng answer:
- " James give." There was no more to be said, and Ed-
ward, with that quick perception which is the basis of his
power, reconstructed pretty accurately what had taken
place. The removal of the incredibly dirty old hat was so
obvious a sorrow, that the little procession commenced
its homeward course with Sir James in the middle in his
patent woolen underwear and his triumphant, if some-
what imsteady, head gear.

That evening, however, In spite of the quiet, glad light
which had come into his eyes, he remained solemnly con-
templative of many things he would not, or could not,
speak about. Of late his excellent appetite had returned;
they were disconcerted to see him push his plate away.
He looked down at the smart shoes on his feet and said,
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THE HEALEKS

" Give 1 " " Give I " he said, holding out his empty hauds.
And presently Edward underatood this also. "Yes, you
may give, James," be said earnestly, close to the lad's
face, looking straight into his eyes. "We will help you
to give, and to be kind."

A couple of days later the gardener's small children
were invited in to play with Sir James. He was allowed
to give them toys. Then other children from the village
followed; later on again — a good deal later — he was taken
to Bee poor people, sick people, people in bed, and en-
couraged to bring them blankets and fruit. Such actions
he easily comprehended. He became a sort of Providence
to the village. The cottagers blessed him as he passed.
But one mystery be did not fathom, and it was a source
of very great grief to him, unbeknown to those who
tended him: no stranger ever gave him anything in re-
turn, excepting the angel tramp. Very gradually he
realized that he was rich, and the villagers poor. But the
tramp had been poor; and he had given first. The
truth must be set down here; it is no use keeping it
back; the dead mother's prayer was fulfilled in a manner
ahe had little expected. The tramp became to James
Graye his sole manifestation of God.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXIV

While James Graj'e vas thus passing from death unto
life, hie faithful guardian of all these years was dieBin-
ing away the rapid weeks of an Italian honeymoon with
a bride to whom the scenery of the Lago Maggiore seemed
as new, and almost as beautifnl, as the married state.
Delight, therefore, could be theirs, as indeed it was, un-
broken, until

Until the change. For the fates accord, in our mortal
destiniee, a long placidity to many, to many a gentle rise
and decline, but untouched loftiness to none. On the
highest heights of human happiness the diz^ soul stag-
gers, and Atropos immediately cuts the rope. Happy th^
who know neither the capaci^ for climbing nor the cer-
tainty of the fall I

" l£y life of the last five weeks is a golden dream," said
Kenneth. He lay back in the lazy skifF, with his ^es
lifted, lazily also, to the spotless blue dome overhead.
" A golden dreamt " he repeated. " A golden dreamt "

He was alone, Thomaaine having lain down for a brief
rest after a morning spent on the lake. She would be
waiting for him presently on the hotel terrace, with after-
noon tea. The oars dabbled gently in the water. He
lay back, half-closing his eyes. The moimtains ros^
snow-capped, far away b^ond the dark-green slopes.
Over aU things was the radiant sunlight. A golden
dream.

That day had been to them both one of supiemest, or

rather of deepest, satisfaction; for the morning had

brought a long letter from Edward — ^not a very frequent

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occuirecce — with a ciTcumatantial account of the beati-
tude that bad come unto James Oraye. Bleseed are the
merciful, for they ehall obtain mercy. Blessed are the
poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaves. And
surely they dwell in the kingdom of heaven who find in
all things, and, yet more strangely, in all men, nought
but the heavenly mind.

Kenneth, tapped iy the shining water, in a clear haze
of warmth and well-being, lulled to rest beneath the
scented heaviness of the widely reposeful air — Kenneth,
asleep, as all things, with the joy of conscious entrance-
ment, lived, while the hours lagged onward, through such
an afternoon as this, not in heaven, so be it I but in
Paradise. What a difference between the not knowing
that you're wicked, which is Eden, and the knowing
you're not wicked, which is heaven I

Thomasine's voice called across the water. The boat
had drifted toward the landing steps. Thomasine stood
on the hotel terrace, leaning against the parapet, and
waved something. Oh, the letters and newspapers! The
postl

At that moment, for the first time since their start on
life's journey together, she almost disturbed him. No,
not sh^— it was the bundle she held, the tiresome recall
to reality. Had she waved an empty palm, his soul
would have leaped up to greet her; he would have longed
for her to come down and join him, empty-handed — he
had almost thought, empty-headed — ^in the boat, on the
water, away, as swiftly as possible, from the shore. What
did she want with the letters! they would have kept well
enough till dinner time. But a woman has not a man's
OBpacity for complacency; when she enjoys, she needs to
be enjoying something. And one of her curious enjoy-
ments is that daily vexation of the masculine mind, the
post. To her, of course, it means distraction; to him,
worry. In the wear and tear of a city, it comes to a
250

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man undiatinguiBhed because unceasing vith its all-day
certainty of nuisance and posaibilit; of pain. But in a
country retreat, during the calm or the diversion of a
holiday, it stands out, occaaional, an insult, and an of-
fense. Faugh — the postl Had be been capable of un-
kindness, or even want of consideration, to his young
wife, he would gladly have rowed back toward the center
of the lake. As it waa — but would be! Once having
perceived the repellent thing, we stretch out our hands
to get hold of it

He climbed up to the hotel esplanade. " Nothing for
you but your newspaper," said Thomasine. She looked
fresh and pleasant in her rongh, light-blue traveling suit.
No, she woa by no means provoking. She imagined he
would be most anxious to read about last week's Parlia-
ment. She herself had a couple of gossipy letters from
friends — an amusing announcement of a marriage.

After all, it is rather a mistake to take a foreign hus-
band ; he doesn't care about your interesting engagranents.
She told him so laughing. Laughing back, he said there
were worse complications than that. "But you needn't
have called me up for my rubbishy new^aperl " he added.

" I didn't. I called you up for your tea," she answered.
" And for yourself. Because I wanted to have you 1 "

To that there was only one reply. He made it. And
he idled on the terrace, with his arms against the balus-
trade, lolling in his chair, looking lazily across the stretch
of scintillating water, with his eyes half dosed as in a
waking dream. A golden dream. Thomasine read the
Leyden Oatette.

"O Kenneth I" she said.

He opened his eyes wide. Her voice told Mm that
something bad happened, and this was just the one idea,
at the moment, that he objected to.

"What is it, Tommie!"

" Abrahams is dead."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

"Well, there don't seem mnch hann in that I"

" But it's very dreadful 1 He was aneh a terrible man —
the man who rained my father."

"The world would be overfull, Tommie, if the bad
men in it didn't die."

Thomasine was silent. She already regretted having
used so strong an ezpresaion anent the deceased.

" A good riddance of bad rubbish, as we say at home,"
continued Kenneth. " Kot that it is much use, for there
are plenty of them left. You think me coarse) WeU, I
hate that aort of pilfering, bloodsucker thief worse than
any. The world could get on well enough with its rob-
bers and highwaymen. "Tis the re^>ecteble swindlers that
make life in it a cnrael"

" Happy James I " said Thomasine.

"And if James were left to himself in it for a week,
be would be a naked beggar. The highwaymen might
leave him his clothes, but the member of Parliament
bankers wouldn't."

"I am sorry Abrahama is dead like this," said Thom-
asine.

" I cannot say I care," he made answer. Then he
praised her tea, which was the usual hotel tea poured
out by her; but that makes a great deal of difference,
especially in the hon^moon, and, besides, he enjoyed
praising all she said and did. He proposed that they
should return to the water and potter about till dinner
time. He liked to see her row. She was but a poor
hand at the oars, and he, at college and at home, had
always gone in for every available form of boating. He
delisted now in teaching her and seeing her improve
under his tuition, the more so as he saw her improve so
very much faster than she actually did. Of course, he was
sufficiently an adept himself instantly to realize his error,
had he wished to do so. There is nothing sweeter in all
the length and breadth of love than semiconscious self-

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

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illusiomnent R^rding the rare gifts of the being we
adore — unleea, perchance, it be love of her faults; nay,
that ia not sweeter — not sweeter ; it is only madder still

If the lake had been perfect, with Bensuonaly perfect
complacency in the full glare of the reflected aunlight, it
was no less perfect now the shadows h^;an to slope across
its silver surface. The erening wa^ approaching, more
beautiful, if possible, than the day. "What are you
thinking off" questioned Thomasine, breaking a silence
Kenneth had already broken by a sigh.

" You would laugh at me if I told you ! "

"Kenneth, you promised never to say that again, the
other day, when I did not laugh,"

"Well, but "

" I promise to be quite honest, and laugh the first time
I want to. I can't be fairer than that." She gazed at
him, smiling, and with that look of inconclusive approval
which a sensible man can endure in the eyes of his
sensible wife.

" I was only thinking," he answered, " of the infinite
something of finite hearts that yeani. It's quite a hack-
neyed quotation. I've forgotten the word, but don't tell
me if you happen to know it," he added quickly, " for it
isn't the one I want. I don't know wluch the one is
that I want. It doesn't exist. But our hearts are finite,
and the somethings that come and fill them are infinite,
and the result is pain." He leaned his head forward on
his hands. " They press and press," he said. " It's like
James's skull. With him it was physical; and with us,
who are not idiots, it's mental. Which is vorset But
for both the result's the same. It is pain."

Here was a splendid opportunity for religious plati-
tudes to a devotional young heart like Thomasine, but
Tbomasine's attitude toward pious commonplace was that
it sounded flat from her lips, and so sweet, and even so
new, from other people's.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

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" And too much happinese," continued Kenneth, " is
perhaps the most painful of all. I Buppose it's nonsense;
all the same, it's true. Nothing hurts like knowing that
we can't hold all our happiness. Don't drift among that
refuse, Tonunie ! "

"Poor fellow, you haven't had ao many opportunities
of trying," said Thomasine sympatbeticallj'. "What a
time you have had with James, Kenneth I But now he is
coming round; it will at least be possible to live with
him. We shall be happy in Scotland. Is it very beauti-
ful? Ib it at all like this! Very different, of course,
but also lakes. Tell me about it. Let us talk about our
home in Scotland."

He lighted his pipe. "James's home" was in Ken-
neth's throat, but nowhere near He lips. "It'a all non-
sense about too much happiness," he said, laughing ;
" before we can turn round and face it, it's gone 1 " His
^es saddened. "Ah, but there's where the pain isl
Never mind I Tes, let's talk about Scotland, and the
future, and our plana. There's no better cure for too
much happiness than talking of the future and making
plans."

"Why, Kenneth! What's the matter) I haven't seen
you like this before. You've been as bright as could be
all the time. Don't croak I "

" I don't want to. Only, when a man is too happy and
makes plans for future happiness, he knows they won't
take effect. It's like substituting a positive pain for the
negative one, Heigbo, the wind and the rain I The
rain, it raineth every day, and when the sun shines ao
pereiatently, we begin to inquire anxiously where the
rain ist Yes, let's talk about home. It raina a good
deal more there than here, Tommie, though not aa much
on our side as in the Highlands. But it's a grand place.
I wonder if there'a anything I could tell you about that
we haven't discussed a dozen times before."
254

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THE HEALEBS

Tliere was plenty to ask and to tell even had theee
matteiB been alieady Investigated in twelve times twelve
conversations on that lake. Th^ were obliged to go back
find diees for dinner long before Kenneth had wearied of
describing the glories of Invergraye.

The hotel was but sparsely occupied by the better class
of travelers; it was far too early and too warm for the
general rush. On the white terrace, under the lamps, in
the balmineea of the starlit evening, they took their cof-
fee. A gauzy gown, a bright wrap, a buzz of low voices
here and there. The green palms, carefully washed, shone
dark against the electrical radiance ; in patches along the
ground and from parapets ran and hung scarlet massee
of geraniums, among the white abundance of phlox and
stocks. Over it all was the ghostly glare of the great
cold globes against the soft night, warm and musical
with distant violin and song.

The goldlaced hotel conciei^ brought round the
evening letters. He had one for Thomasine. " I thought
you were out on the lake, sir," he said. "There is one
for you also; I will go and fetch it."

Kenneth lifted hia handsome, lazy head. " No ! " he
cried vigorously; "don't do any such thing I I'll come
for it when I go upstairs."

"But, sir, it is the smallest trouble "

" I don't want it I " cried Kenneth.

Thomasine looked away from her sheet with an ex-
clamation of horror she vainly tried to check. "What
now!" demanded Kenneth. "You see what a nuisance
letters are in a dolce far tiiente such as this! "

" The man Abrahams committed suicide I " said Thom-
asine in a frightened voice.

"Is that all?" protested Kenneth testily. "My dear
Tonunie, what do you care ? "

" His affairs are very much involved. The house has
failed."

255

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEB8

" Well, then, Uobs, Hoses, and the rest, muet look after
things.'*

"There don't seem to be any Moes, Moaes, and so
on. ISy mother vritce that AbithamB was the business."

"And a nice bueinees, too. I leally must object to the
continued lutmsion of the rascallj' dead old corpee of a
Jev into this night of nights. 'In such a night, did
Jessica steal from the wealthy Jewl' Steal, indeed, she
did. The turquoise ring he had from her dead mother,
and sundry other trifles. But we forgive her, ve Chris-
tians, because he was a Jew. Hath a Jew senses, Tom-
miel afFectionsf passions? We none of us ask if he has
braina."

"It is terrible!" said Thomaaine, gazing away to the
dark vagueness of the sleeping hillsides. The night was
still very warm, yet she drew the pink fluSness of her
scarf across the filmy muslin of her shoulders. "Are
you cold, dearest?"

"No, it IB not that,"

" Thomas, you are silly I Be glad that your father is
well out of his toils."

"Tea, of course. Poor, wretched, wretched manl
Wait a minute, Kenneth; I'm all right now. Yes, the
night is exquisite beyond comparel" Her hand lay on
the parapet. She had ioTcly hands. The diamond of her
engagement ring caught the lamplight and flashed. He
bent and kissed the hand and the diamond.

" Kenneth, mind I People will see ! "

He turned his head carelessly. " What, the people over
yonder? Kot they. Why is it that educated persona want
to keep their happiness to themselves, Tommie? Is it
selfishness, unwilling to go shares? or charity, unwilling
to arouse envy?"

"They keep all their emotions to themselves," said
Thomasine.

"True, I am Northern enough for that; but I am
256

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THE H£At.£RB

Sontbern in having emotions at alL Do you Imow, I
bad never dared to come to Ital; before— my motber's
country I Of couree you know. I told you. I could not
bave come with Jamee; we were always with doctors,
and naturally not Italian dootois; but I migbt bave come
before, as an undergraduate. I didn't dare to. I was
afraid of my own emotions. Tbe air bere isn't good for
people who — Oh, I say, I've mislaid my pipe t "

"I dare eay it's upstairs. Sball I go for it I"

"No, indeed. Let's sit bere just ten minates longer,
and then you must turn in."

" I'll sit as long as you like."

"No, you mustn't overtire yourself. Nobody's ever
looked after you, Tommie. I don't believe you're as
strong as you think."

" Edward was always very good to me. As a child, in
the holidays, be used to bring me his sweets. And when
bis favorite rabbit died he roasted it, and made me eat
more than balfl" Tbomasine's laugb rang out so mer-
rily that some of the far-away hotel guests looked round.
Oh, lovers, you know I — ho delightful! — leave them to
themselves I " But nobody has ever spoiled me as you
have all these weeks. How could they I "

" Tbe thing is not unthinkable."

"It's very good for me tbey did not, or yon would
bave found me insufferable."

"I should bave loved yon just the same."

"Ton think so now; and, of course, I don't mean to
say that you love me for my amiable qualities. Still "

"Don't get mixed — as you will I Better listen, while
I tell you that I shall always love you, even when I dis-
cover what an unlovable woman you are. When I see
you are selfish and disagreeable and cantankerous and
unpleasing, I shall love you just tbe same."

"It is easy enough to eay these things now, Kenneth,

when your love sees none of my faults. But I wish you

267

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

wouldn't. Yon frighten me. I Aim't believe in lore
without eeteem."

" Thank God, I do."

" Kenneth ! "

"All ri^t, darling. I oonldn't qnit« help the tone.
But to think, when the time comee, as come it muBt, that
you don't exactly esteem me — to think that your love
should not survive the eeteem!" He got up. Hia face
was turned away from her. " You will love me longer
than that," he said.

" I shall love you as long as I live."

" 8ay that again, dearest. No, don't say it. I'm selfish.
Love me as long as I live; that's as much ae I dare ask.
I don't care about the esteem."

"Yes, you do, Kenneth."

" A man must eateem a woman; the woman's love must
manage without"

"You can't do without the esteem, Kenneth."

He laughed. "Perhaps not." The laugh was by no
means a self-satisfied one. "But I want the love — the
love — the love."

" You have it. And you are contradicting yourself, for
yon have just said that some day you will no longer
esteem me."

" Dearest, loveliest, and best, I shall do that even were
I mad."

"Oh, what a word to usel Don't, don't talk about
being — that!"

"The talking about it doesn't bring the thing any
nearer one."

" I suppose not, but — but we shouldn't talk about it, I
think."

"Why not we! Do you think we are madder than
other sane people! Do I strike you as specially crazy!"

" O Kenneth — James ! "

"James is an idiot; that is a very different matter.

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THE HEALERS

Very, very different. The two have Qothiiig i:
abBolutel; nothing." He spoke with eager insiBt«iic8, as
if fighting his own thoughts.

" He is the only deranged person I have ever seen," she
eaid in a frightened voice. " I have never come into con-
tact with madness of any kind. It eeems to me awful."

"Ton don't agree with Edward, thent You wouldn't
have chosen his sphere of work I "

"Don't think I mind about James," she answered,
alarmed. "I shall be very happy with James to look
after. It was insanity I was thinking of, raving mad-
ness!" — she could no longer restrain the shudder that
ran down her frame. " That seems to me too awful to
think about. Kenneth, what made you talk of it at all I
In such a night, as you were saying — in such a night I"
She looked out toward the velvet calm above the lake.

He drew close to her.

" ' All iraa so still, k> soft, tn nrth and tdr.
Yon scarce woald sbut to mMt ft spirit tbeie,
Seeim that nangfat of evil maid delight
To walk in sadi a scene, on sach a nJght 1 '

So, you see, there is no reason to be nervous," he said.

"How mnch poetry you knowl Where is that from!"

"It's Byron. He liked the night, with or without
spirits."

" I don't think anybody was ever so fond of poetry and
of pipes," she continued, cheerful again.

" Two sorts of pipee, then. This has been a long t«n
minutes."

" The fault is yours, for talking naughty nonsense I "
She rose. " And now you send me away I "

" All for the love of you," he replied as he followed her

into the lighted hotel vestibule. " t shall take good care

of you as long as I can. Send me down my pipe by the

j^d," he called after her into the disappearing lift.

269

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THi: HEALEKS

"Yonr letter, sir," said tlie concierge at his elbow.

It was a letter from an unknown aomebody in Holland,
forwarded to the pTofeeaor'B Leyden address. Yet the
extravagant handwriting did not Beem altogether im-
familiar. There was a seal with a double A interlaced.
Kenneth stood under the hall lamp.

" Ton have killed me. My death lies at your door, and
to me, at this supreme moment, it is a last satisfaction,
nay, a fierce delight, to tell you of it. I am a ruined
man, mined from the hour what you kept me, hy hrute
force and foul threats, from finishing the business for
which I had come to Fans. As I told you, your little
Lisse affair was child's play compared with that. So I
gave way to your violence, in time, as I thought, but I
had not counted on the difficrulties of getting back from
Autenil, and I was too late. From that moment my ruin
became but a question of time. Now it is consummated,
and I kill myself. No, you have killed me. And, see
here, the money was not owing to the colonel. It had
been paid in to his account. You say you are a mad-
man. Well, here is stufi to go mad over. Think it out.
"AaxHUB Abuahjmb."

"La pipe de monsieur," said the maid, at Kenneth's
elbow.

He took it.

"Madame prie montieur de Im apparter ton livre,
quand monsieur montera. Madame I'a laissi sur le divan
du corridor"

"All right"

He strode out through the hotel door. A few stars
were vieible. The moon had risen. The night was
white.

He stumbled along amid the shrubberies. There was
a bench, he knew, down the long alley of bamboos and
camellia trees, round the bend, in the little damp cor-

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THE HEALEBS

ner, BgainBt the wall. He saw it in bis mind's eye, wait-
in?, empty. The trees hung over it; the comer would
be dark and gloomy — a hidden corner, a hiding place,
noisome, black. As he thought of this, he fairly ran
toward it, through the bright shadows, like a hunted
animal hastemng to its lair.

He sank down on the bench, a cold stone seat, against
the thick leaves, in the eilence. Darkness he bad found
here, but the horrible white light played outside. He
waa away from the house, from the lamps and faces —
away from the building which held Thomasine. He
drew a long breath.

There was a mstling in the boBhee behind him. Or
was it voices t How could it be a rustling when the
air waa bo still I It must be voices, because the? were
speaking. If he ouly could listen he would hear what
they said. He tried to listen, gasping, with extended
neck. His eyes were starting from his head, for he
caught the words. Some of the hotel guests must be out
there in the darkness. The; were saying, " Yon are the

He daahed through the black bushee np against the
stone waU. Then he laughed. Of course there could be
nobody there, in the walL And if there had been, how
could they be saying that! Kobody knew anything
about the murderer but he — at least not here — ^not yet
He most tell them. No, that was the one thing he must
not do. He sat down again, with his head in his hands,
to think it out.

To think it out. Where had he recently heard that
expression? What had Thomasine told him to think outt
The immense possibilities of human happiness? or the
briefness of it? Again he laughed. No, it was not
Thomasine. Right, Abrahams had written to him to
think it out. Abrahams was dead. Something — some-
thing living — ran across his hand. He drew bock the

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

hand hastily. An insect, of counie; his nerves were
steady.

Bat before Abrahams died he had written to him, Ken^
neth, to think it out. To think out that here was suffi-
cient to go mad over. Yes, that was the expression used:
To go mad over.

Better be exact when 70U think things out. Abrahams
had not died; he had killed himself. No, he had not
killed himself; he had been killed. He had written ex-
pressly that Kenneth had killed him. What a thing to
write to any man! And Eenneth must go mad orer it
thinking it outl

AbsnrdI ridiculous I outrageous t What had he to do
with it, if this Jew chose to kill himself} What had he
to do with Mb ruin! He rose, stretching out his inno-
cent arms 00 high in an attitude of contempt. And then
again he laughed — so loud the stiUness echoed him —
laughed fiercely, stamping about the dark comer in un-
. controllable mirth. The rascally Jew I The contemptible
banking Jew. The cheat I What did it matter to Ken-
neth that Abrahams had killed himself, or whyt Ha-
ha-hal Hushl he must not laugh so loud; people would
hear him — the people behind the shrubbery. How could
there be people behind the shrubbery, when there was a
wall! True, but if there were no people, how could they
be whiapering! What were they whispering! It was
very, very difficult to catch. Hush! there it was again,
quite plain — "Murderer."

He was talking to somebody now; somebody who rea-
soned very clearly, sitting beside him on the bench.
" You see, the money had been paid to the colonel. And
if the mon^ had been paid to^the colonel (as it had
been), then it was quite manifest that Kenneth Qraye
was a marderer. Very hard on Kenneth Qraye, who
otherwise in many ways was quite a decent sort of chap,
but palpable, evident, undeniable. Of course he was a

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

murderer; eveiyone <!oul<l see that who can see that twice
two make five. Four. Twice two make four."

The person on the bench must be a fool to make such
a slip as that. He was so angr; with him that he struck
at him — struck at him again and again, all the more
angry because he didn't strike back. He knocked him
over on the graimd and trampled on him; and then there
was nobody there. But people were talking behind the
ahrubbeiy, a number of them, talking quite loud, in the
wall Tou could see them grinning among the leaves.
Don't look I

The great thing was, to remain calm, for Thomasine'a
sake. Murderer or not — it was a very inteneting ques-
tion, and he would like to think it out — ^there again I —
but not to-night, for Thomasine'B sake. Tou see, he
didn't belong to himself, but to Thomaaine, and some
thinkings do a man so much harm. He pressed his hand
to his forehead. He ought never to have married her.
Theie, again, what a painful thinking, and such a useless
one I As useless as two and two make — four. Now, that
is a good thing to stick to, in doubt. It doesn't prove
anything, yet, up to a point, somehow, it proves yon are
not a murderer, even when you know you are.

Thomaaine I Thomasinel Thomasinet He walked to
the end of the shaded comer; the path lay bright before
him. He stopped. How fearfully brilliant the night
waal He had always disliked the moon. Everything
showed gray or black, and ghastly. The hotel garden
looked like a scene from Dante's " Inferno." What non-
sense, when he knew it was only the hotel garden! He
knew well enough. He had said it looked like the "In-
ferno." He was quite annoyed with himself. Of course
he knew it was the garden of the Hotel Bellaria; and
therefore it was so absurd of him not to venture across
the path. Tou see, it was so horribly, unnaturally light.
And the moon stared, frightful. And there were figures

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

briund 70U that liad come out of the wall, and that dis-
appeared whenever you turned round. He hung against
the shadow of the buahea, peering out.

A party of visitors at the hotel came up, laughing and
chatting, from the lower road. They passed close to
him, a man and two ladies. He was especially grateful
for the presence of the ladies. The man was smoking.
He felt even more grateful for the scent of the tobaooo.
He followed them. Thy turned, recognizing him, chaffing
him for being all alone.

" Out so late I By yourself ! " said one of the ladies.

" It does make one nerrous," he answered, willfully mis-
understanding her; "bat when I heard voices I said to
myself, 'Ton scarce would start to meet a spirit there.'
Tou know the reet I "

"I guess I fotget," said the fair AmericBQ.

He finished the quotation. " It's out of ' Lara.'
Byron, you know. He enjoyed his nights, with or with-
out spirits."

" Good pun I " remarked the fair American's husband.

Kenneth shnddered. " I'm so glad I met yon I " he said
vehemently.

They were standing under the hall lamp. His com-
panions stared at him, astonished by the violence of his
voice. The fair American thought what beautifnl eyes
he bad, chestnut black, like some men of her own race;
but a little wild.

" Because now we can arrange about that excutsiDn to
the Tal Drina," he said, recovering himself.

" I never arrange without the other man's wife,"
laughed the American. "It means going through the
whole thing twice." He was comfortable and jolly, a
saccessful man, who had never troubled about more
money, with a charming spouse and family. He went
upstairs, laughing to his wife over his shoulder all the
way up.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

Kenneth heard their laughter, as he got Thomasmo'B
forgotten book. TTih hand trembled. Something was
singing all through hia bod; like tel^raph vires; and
worst of all, somebody was talking, quite loud, in his
head — had been talking all the time he apoke to the
AmericanB, so loud he Hometimee hardly caught what they
— the Americana — said. Wlien he stopped and listened,
he could distinguish nothing, except from time to time,
in the multitudinous hiss of almost coherent phrases, the
word " murderer " like a refrain. If only he could have
caught the meaning I He stood still, exhausted, staring
at the hotel concierge, wondering whether he heard.

He dropped his gaze to bis wife's little book, "The
Peace of God." A good little devotional book; the chap-
lain's wife had brought it her that morning, ".The Peace
of Qod." The words caught on in his brain as he passed
up tlie empty staircase. That was what the voice was
saying: "The Peace of God."

It passes all understanding; that was what he remem-
bered about the peace of God. So you need not try to
understand it. The thought lay upon his mind like balm.
The peace of God.

"Have you brought up my book?" questioned Thom-
asine, wide awake on her pillow. " I was so vexed to have
let it lie in the hall. It isn't the sort of book for that."

" The Peace of God," he answered, laying it down,

" How long you have been, dear I "

"I met the Americans. We must arrange about Yal
Drina,"

He lay awake for a long time, listening to the music
in hia brain, like a church organ. At last he fell asleep
and dreamed.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

CHAPTER XXV

The next morning dawned as blue and spotless and
serene as the preceding one. The excursion to Val Drina
was fixed up b? the brisk American in the twinkle of an
eje. Almost before the others realized that it was tak-
ing place, they found themBelves driving back from it.
Kenneth had enjoyed it boisterously. Only once or twice
he had heard the voices saying "Murderer"; not if he
laughed loud enough. Once he caught Hb young wife's
gaze fixed on him a little wonderingly. But when you
marry into another nationality you are never quite as
certain of your ground as in your own.

On their homeward road from the Cascade thc^ halted
at Cirio for tea. * And we must take time for our tea,
please," said an English lady who was of the party, " I
can't bear to be hurried over my tea." As they dispersed
themselves all over the gardens, laughing and chattering,
a stately, well-dressed figure issued from the little pink
hotel against the mulberry trees and made straight for

" You here I " be cried in astonishment to Maria Mae-
Clachlin.

" Yes," she answered. " It isn't one of the coincidences
that never occur. I came here on purpose."

" But how did you know that we "

"I came away for a holiday, and I chose the lakes
because I knew you were here. We were bound to meet
sooner or later at some of these excursion places, like this.
I bad no wish to intmde on your honeymoon."

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THE HEALEKS

" Are jou alone I " he asked imcomf ortably.

"No; HorteiiBe U with me, and the widow. Where
ia your wife? With that gentleman f An American?
Shall we walk along this path a bit, to the Belvedere t"
She looked at the watch on her wrist. " My tea is due
in four minutes, but it won't come. Theee Italians are
too shockingly unpunctual. Ko wonder they've missed
a couple ol centuries. They will never make up for lost

" Do you still wear a watch on each wristf " he asked,
for the sake of something to say.

" Yea, and the worst of it is, no cara or expense can
make the two keep the same time. Th^ would drive
me mad, if anything in the world could do that."

" Ton said Hortenee was with you ) " he remarked more
uncomfortably stilL

"Tee. Oh, it's a shocking story! Her butcher was
married already, and only wanted my wine shop. But
I'm glad to say the awful experience in lying has been
a lesson to Hortenae. She lies lees, I think. And the
widow — you remember the widow of the Chantilly
groom?"

" But you got rid of her after a couple of weeks! "

" In those two weeks she contrived to contract a some-
thing in her throat — ' contract ' is the right word ; she
calls it a 'tightening of the borax,' She says she got
it standing before the hall, ui%iiig the people to come
in. 'You told me to uige 'em, miss,' she says, 'and I
urged 'em till I 'adn't a hatom o' wind left inside my
borax.' So she lays the blame at my door. So I had
to bring her here." Maria laughed good-naturedly. " I
shouldn't mind. If she and Hortense would leave off quar-
reling. Curiously enough, their quarrels are chiefly about
the lies that either says the other telle me. Both are
right about the otbei^s lying; in fact, that is about the
only true thing that either says to me."
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" JuBt now I understood you to say that Hortense told
fewer untruths f"

" That is only because ahe speaks less. Her sorrow has
undoubtedly somewhat silenced her. Bhe was very gai-
Tulous, you remember, but she is as unreliable as ever.
However, don't let's talk about that. I was anxious to
meet with you, my dear young friend. You are very
happy, of course."

He hesitated. She looked at him sharply. "I have
had a month of unbroken felicity," he hastened to ssy.

"That is right. You don't mind my consulting yout
I have been very anzions to consult you, dear friend."

He grinned. " I am an odd man to consult," he said.

"Dr. Lisse told a very different tale."

"Oh, yesl" he cried, "yes! yes! I heli>ed the Lissee
admirably I Oh, I managed that affair most remarkably
weUI"

" Just BO," she replied. " I<ook here, Ur, Qraye, I
have been greatly impressed by your sister-in-law Laura."

"An exceptional woman."

"I mean, by what ahe said to me when she was my
guest at Belleville. Oh, not by the spirit business, of
course 1 That is all rubbish and nonsense ; and the second
sight, except, perhaps, in the Highlands, must be some
sort of trick. Tou don't believe in dead people coming
back to talk to ust"

" ^No," said Kenneth. But his voice was so terrible that
she stopped.

"Are you illf I ought to have noticed before. You
are not looking at all well. Let us sit down."

" It is nothing. I am all right, I assure you."

"Let us sit down here, in the Belvedere," she com-
manded. "Isn't it a glorious view) But you oughtn't
to stay in these parts. Too much felicity doesn't seem
to agree with you, Kenneth Graye. Or, rather, these
lake climates don't suit nervous temperaments."

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THE HEALERS

"Mine is not a nervoua temperament. I am calm
enough," he said quickly.

" E'm. Well, if I were you, I should go to Kilan a
bit, and look at pictures vith Thomasine, as we did in
Paris. That wasn't exciting; at least not to me. But
what I wanted to ask you about was this: I am sure
Laura Liaae is right about big houses. She has begun
at onoe, admirably, with their own place in Holland.
Kow there is Rowangowan. Thirty unused bedrooms.
Could anything, in our modem condition of social ethics,
be more wicked, more absurd I "

" The same thing," be said, " holds good of Inrergraye."

" WeU," she answered, " Invergraye is neither yours nor
is it James's ; but I am in my senses, and Rowangowan is
mine. I shall not many. Oh, never mind I I'ni bo glad
you've found a congenial helpmate. But now / have
both Hortense and the widow to assist me, definitely, I
feel I can never abandon my chevaliers. They are rather
too much sans psur, I fear, and they certainly are by no
means lans reproche, but the 'muttons' vant protecting
all the more on that account. And there the great house
stands, and will stand forever — Nonsense, Kenneth
Graye, I had far better do it while I am alive."

"Whatt" He put the question almost mechanically.
Yet he was glad of this consultation, striving to keep his
brain clear for it.

" I confess I don't care so much for idiots, but I have
always felt a special pity for the indigent insane. Now,
that is where you come in. I want to make Rowangowan
into a County Asylum for Pauper Lunatics!" She
looked at him triumphantly, grateful to know the thing
was oS her mind. " You being my immediate neighbor. I
felt I couldn't do it without your consent."

"Thanks," he said in a toneleaa voice.

" Of course I should build a atone wall all round."

" Of course," he said.

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THE HEALERS

" And the river — I should have to do Bometbing about
the river."

"Why!" he aaked.

"You can't sllow lunBtics near water," she said with
great decision.

" Oh, of couise not I " he answered, with hia eyea on the
lake.

"You see, Kenneth Graje, I thonght there would not
be any such very great objections " — ^her tone had grown
a little anxious — " because of the vicinity of a deranged
peiBon, anyway."

"Tea, quite so," he said eagerly, "quite bo. I quite
understand what you mean."

" I thought, as your poor nephew would now probably
live at Invergraye "

" But you mistake about my nephew. You don't seem
to have heard," he said excitedly. " Sir Jamee is an idiot
no longer. He is going to be a wiser man than any of
us. I shall advise him to stand for Parliament I He says
' Ha ' and ' Ba,' and talks words. He calls Thomasine
* angeL' You see what a clever boy he is, to call Thom-
asine angeL I don't know irfiat he calls me. Th^
haven't written to say that. But it appears he thinks
Fm an awful liar, and Barton, too, because we told him
that things were good when they were unpleasant. Isn't
that ridiculous, to say a thing's good when it's un-
pleasant f Almost as ridiculous as killing a man when
he'd paid the money. 80, you see, he understands Tm a
liar. I wonder whether he has any inkling that Fm a
murderer as vrell I "

"What nonsense you are talking!" said Haria Mac-
Clacbliu; but she edged away a tittle and looked down
toward the hotel, where the other people were.

"Peraonally, you don't like nonsense!"

" Oh, 1 don't mind s little wholesome footing! "

"You are sane, eminently sane. I am not. I waa
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alw&TB a little crazy, as yon know. It is in my
family."

"Now, f^f is unwtoleBome nonsense, as I have told
you before. Worse — it is wicked! I have known yonr
family all my life, and my aimt knew them half a cen-
tury before me. There were no saner people in the
oountTy."

" Very odd," he apid.

"The truth is, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,
Kenneth Qraye."

" I am," he answered. " I am. That is what Fve been
saying all day, only they won't hear me. Now, you won't
hear me. Whom were yon thinking of putting away at
fiowangowan ? "

" Pauper lunatics, I tell you," she said, rising.

"Won't you take me? I'm not a pauper, I feat, but
Pm a lunatic There, now I've told you, I'm ao glad."

" For Qod's sake, what do you mean I "

" Oh, nothing I " he said, laughing. " I was only joking,
of course. Why, you can see how sane I am. Everybody
can see it. Nobody would guees, unless I told them. So
that proves it's a joke. I'm as sane as the other memben
of my family. No, that's James. As sane as the mom-
bers your aont knew. There's no saner family in Scot-
land."

"Shall we join the others t"

He walked beside her. " I approve of your project. I
think it's admirable. There is something most beauti-
fully appropriate to me in the idea of having that lunatic
a^lnm next door. Make a hale in that stone wall of
yours that won't let anybody out, but that'll let some- ^
body in. It ought to be quite easy, with our modem
appliances, to manage that."

" Let us hurry I Even Italian tea will be ready by this
time," she said, to create a diversion.

" Oh, ' the mills of Ood grind slowly, but thoy grind
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THE HEALEBS

exceeding small,'" he answered. "No, it's coffee wants
grmding, not tea. However, the Bentiment holde good.
There's do eecaping from oar altimate fate, ICiss Mac-
Clachlin. No escape. No eecspe." After that the;
walked down the pathway in silence, till he began, hur-
riedly, at the bottom: "You won't say anything to my
wife about my etnpid little jokef It is a stupid joke;
I oughtn't to make it. I pretend sometimes to think I
am going out of my mind, but, of course, that's non-
sense. And I'm most especially anxious to keep my little
joke from her. I shall have to give it up on that ac-
count."

" The sooner you give it up, the better," said Maria
incisively. " What the fun can be of talking thus to me,
SB you did in Paris once before, I am at a loss to per-
ceive. You keep this idea about your going mad for
me, I trust ) "

" Of course," he said eagerly. " Of course. Quite
right. Tes, it is a little secret between you and me."

"Well, you may abandon it now, my dear friend. I
ajqireciate your motive, but I can assure you I am quite
reconciled to the idea of remaining ' M. M.' " Bhe
pointed to her brooch, as she concluded, the big silver
" Mitericorde awe Moutotu " badge. And with this final
snub she left him. " Hortense I " she called.

The vridow came bustling up. " Hortense is busy," she
said, " with the other party's ' coahayt.' You can 'ear 'em
laughing. But ' coahay coahong,' says I."

Close behind her, however, followed the Frenchwoman,
" Ah, you say eoahong I " cried the shrill Hortense, " but
what you mean is ' pique.' " She jumped with joy at her
ovn miserable pun.

Maria sat down, sighing, to her tea. "You are both

late," she said, " for I told you to be here at five, waiting.

But I can't fine you your usual centime a minute, for I

don't know which of my watches has the correct time."

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She looked down helplessl; at her two wrists. " Go and
find out, Hortense, please I"

"It is the one which retaids moet," replied Hortense,
without budging.

Maria laughed. She greeted Thomtsine with real af-
fection. Somehow or other, ahe felt slightly reeponsible
for the young Dutchwoman's married happiness. She in-
quired, in a tone which cared for the answer, bow things
had gone with the bride.

"I am happier," said Thomasine, "than I should ever
have imagined possible."

" You deserve it, my dear," replied Haria heartily.

" Happier than the deserts of any creature alive," said
Thomasine.

Maria need say no more. "And Mr. Qraye is well?"
she ventured.

"Quite well, and so delighted about Ma nephew.
Thanks."

" I shall come across you again, I dare say, before you
leave for home," said Maria, brushing away her crumbs.

" If all goes well with James, we shall stay in Italy till
ChristmaB. We shall travel on to Florence and Rome,"
replied Thomasine.

"I am going back next week to my muttons. Hor-
tenael"

"Yes, mademoiselle!"

"Tell that coshaj/ not to saw his poor horse's mouUi
like that!"

" But I do not speak Italian, mademoiselle."

" "Sot do I, as I have told you before. I don't know
what ' saw ' is in French, or I'd tell hi m myself. Coceky-
erel Cocchiera! non "

"Bagare," suggested Thomasine.

" Segare la teala at cavaUo I "

"Ma, signora, io non aego nientel" came the amazed,
good-natured reply.

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THE HEALEBS

" 8il mH Allora non puUertl Oh, that can't be right 1
How ueeless you are, Hortensel Hon fare cosi!" In her
vefaemeace she caught at the little white-and-pink table-
cloth and pulled it toward her. It was a flimey thing; it
went very lightly; it sent the tea thinga all over her in
a shower.

"Oh, dear me, what a meesl" she cried. "What a
meeel Venga gui, coeehierel Give him a couple of
'leers' Hortense, and tell him to be good to hie horse.
CavaUerel Ckrialianol Buona al cavaUo. Sit"
V Horteuae gave the driver one of the two francs, with a
grin — a " leer " and a leer make two leere, Maria — and ex-
plained to Tiim that he was a cavalier and a Christian.
He said that s franc wasn't much for a man who was all
that.

Maria sat demonstrating to Thomasine that a League
of Mercy among Italian drivers would be as grand
a mission as anyone could find to undertake, and that
only an Englishwoman could work it. Thomasine agreed
with her. " If I live a twelvemonth longer, I shall start it
myself," said Maria. She gave Thomasine a packet of
pamphlets about international transport enormities, and
three dozen copies of " The Cry of the Cow." " All dumb
creatures may count on my sympathy," she said. "I
cannot resist the appeal of a sheep or an ass. And, by
the bye, if you ever stand in need of a friend, Thomasine,
send a telegram to Maria MacOlachlin I "

Thomasine repeated this kindly meant injunction, with
much merriment, to Kenneth, in their room at the
hotel.

" And why, pray, should you stand in need of t«legrams
to Maria MacClachlint" demanded Kenneth uneasily.

"Oh, it was only just her way of saying something
friendly 1 "

" She might have chosen something more reasonable to

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THE HEALERS

" Surely it wasn't quite so absurd."

"Tea, it was," he persisted.

" For instance, you mtKht fall ill," she said gently, to
exculpate the other woman.

"Why should I fall ill! I never was iU in my life!
What makes you tbink I should fall ill)" He stopped
dressing, excitedly. He turned to her. "I have not the
slightest intention of falling iU."

" I was only suggesting the vague poBsibility," she said.
" Ood forbid we should have need of her services. She is
the sort of person one would naturally turn to in mis-
fortune."

" Poor Maria I " be said, brushing Ms bair. And he
told bis wife about Miss MacClacblin'e projects with
Rowangowan.

Thomasine tried to steady her features. "No," she
said, "if you ask me, I do not like it. I do not like
it, but it cannot be helped."

" Tou ! I thought you would be sure to approve ! " be
cried, aatonisbed.

"I am afraid of mad people. I cannot help it. I
have an eq)ecial aversion to mad people. I know it is
wrong."

" By Jove, I bad f oi^otten I I must write and tell
her."

" Ob, no, not that 1 That would be wicked I " she cried,
much upset.

"It's a pity you should have such a dislike to mad
people. I — I rather like them."

"Ob, Kenneth, you cannot mean thati"

" But I do. A touch of nature makes the whole world
kin."

She puckered her brows, endeavoring to follow Ms

"As I grow older," he continued sagely, tying his tie

with firm hand into its usual perfect bow, " I realize that

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the humai] race consists of fools and madmen. Mnch
better be a madman than a fooL"

She laughed at him cheerfoU;. "What a clever,
naughty, untrue thing to sa; 1 "

At dinner he aaid more clerer things. Some of them
were naughty, but by so means all untrue.

In the smoking room he found the chaplain. He was
one of the chaplain's favorites. The poor cleric, himself
a thorougjily good fellow, bad strong likee and dislikes
he was not expected to show. The twelfth commandment
forbade him, and also the hotel company. ^ was ex-
pected to be amiable at two guineas a week during the
season. He bad known better dajs, as a successful tea
merchant, before he had gone honorably bankrupt and
hurried, balf-educated, into the Church. His preachings
were paltry, but his conversations were full of sympathy,
without much insight, and of help.

"Do you believe, Mr. Husgins," asked Kenneth
straightway, "that a man has done a thing if he didn't
want to do it?"

" Suppose we put the case more clearly? " suggested Ur.
Huggins, amiably sipping his coffee.

" If you had killed a man "

" Tee," said the clergyman, adding a tbiid lamp.

"Would you be a murderer?"

" 1^0 1 " cried the little old chaplain energetically, " for
I am quite certain — Ood forgive my presumption I — that
I should never have had the slightest intention of doing
anyone any harm."

Kenneth nodded his head several times. " I approve of
your answer," he said. "Still, as you say, you speak
presumptuously."

"My dear sir, do I look like a murderer?"

"Do I?"

Mr. Hu^:iiie, mild-faced and faded, gazed st the dark-
complexioned, daik-c^ed young man.
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THE HEALEBS

" N-n-no, of course not," be said. Kenneth noticed the
momentary stutter. " Of coutae not," eaid the chaplain,
overemphasising the denial. For !Urs. Hnggins held a
frequently expressed opinion that "all Italians looked
like murderers," even the harmless little handful of na-
tive Froteetanta (approved of and patronized) that met
on Sundays in a basement room of the Bellaria. And
Mrs. Huggins's secular opinions were her husband's, jnst
as his religious convictions were hers. Ur. Qraye had un-
doubtedly a strong look of an Italian, " No, no, of course
not," energetically cried Mr. Hugglns.

"You know nothing of business, of course — bank-
ruptcy; matters of that kind?" continued Kenneth.

"I — I know a little," answered the chaplain nerv-
ously.

Kenneth recalled his own Free Chuich minister at
home, who had once asked biyn what those lines were for
across a check, and he smiled. " The bankruptcy you
know about is moral bankruptcy," he said. "Lord I
what a lot of people you must see coming into court with
no assets I"

" They don't come," replied the clergyman.

" True, you are not a father confessor. I wish you
were."

"My dear sir, every priest "

"Yes, I know, but it's different. Protestant priests
have wives, and we all, even the best of us, want to tell
our wives about other men's faults."

" I can assure you that confession is sacred."

"And our wives, even the best of them, want to tell
other wives of the faults of other men. It's inevitable."
Kenneth sighed.

The amiable clergyman echoed the sigh, more mildly.
He was not the sort of priest who thirsts after casuistiy.

" But we hide away our crimes," said Kenneth moodily,
" and they come to the surface all the same."
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THE H£AL£RS

" Ah, true, tniB I " the cleigynuui shook a Tesponsive
head. " Too true. Like Enoch Ardea 1 "

"Eugene Aram," corrected Kenneth irritably. He
might be going out of hia eenaes, but this was outrageoua.

" Eugene Arden," admitted Mr. Huggins gently — " you
are right. The name Arden ao easy to remember, too.
Shakespeare, you know."

Kenneth lounged to his feet and shook the ashes from
hia pipe. "Tou agree with me, I see," he said. "TTo
man can be held responsible for the results of an action
which he did not foresee."

"Unless he might reaaonably have foreeeen them,"
amended the clergyman quickly.

"Ah, theie'a the rub I" answered Kenneth, going out.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

CHAPTER XXVI

He vent into the drawing-rooin, vhere Thomasine Was
sitting chatting with the chaplain's wife. He caught the
words " mothers' meeting " and " calico at ninepence
three farthings." Other groups wen in the big room here
and there, reading, playing cards. A young girl was
screaming " Thine Eyes 1 "

" I am going out on the water a bit," he said.

"Again, dear! Aren't you tired!"

"Ko, Won't you come with me!"

"Urs. Oraye has a headache," put In the chapUia'a
kindly wife.

" All right. I shan't be moie than an hour or so."

" It's very dark, Kenneth."

"I shall take Giuseppe." He wandered away to the
landing place, found his boatman — in a trattoria — and
shoved off. All these weeks they had had Qiuseppe's boat,
mostly without Giuseppe. The latter was a not very
talkative northern Italian, middle-aged, with a brown
mustache and grizzly hair. He was a philosopher, as
Kenneth had learned from the few brief talks that had
taken place between them, and he evinced a rather pitiful
interest in the fortunes of his fellow men.

They rowed «w«y slowly into the da^ness. The lights
of the little town glimmered small, in a cluster and a
long-drawn crescent; other radiant specks shone here and
there round the far-away circle of the hills. The usual
tinkle of mandolins, the faint echo of " Santa Lucia "
sounded from distant comers; over the black expanse of
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THE HEALERS

water brooded the solemn stillness of the heavil? clouded
Bky. The night was thick with Bileace, weighed down by
« motionless heat. Eeuneth dropped his oars and let the
other man row. The exercise had done him good, as
always, but his heart was beating bo wildly be felt be
must stop. His thoughts would steady down for a mo-
ment, and thrai they would b^n dancing again; it was
that whirl which no mortal could stand, a persiHtent
noise, like the clatter of a train over a bridge, going
round and round; and your only escape from it was talk-
ing, talking incesaantly, just when you felt that the one
wise thing foi you was not to talk. Yet talk you must,
to escape from the Toices inside yon; you would go mad
with those Toicee unless you heard yourself speaking
aloud.

"Giuseppe I" The oarsman started.

"Are you married, Giuseppe?"

"I have not that advantage, slgnor."

"You think it is an advantage?"

Giusejipe rowed on with leisurely stroke.

"Weill Speak out I"

" To you, signor, the husband of the charming aignora,
what else could one say?"

" Forget about the charming signora."

" For me, I should think : Happy they who can many,
if they wish; happier they who wish not."

" True."

" He that enjoys with another, enjoys doubly, Uiey say;
but, when sorrow comes, it is best to be alone."

" Yet a sorrow we share is but half a sorrow, they say."

" Ah, signor I who say) It is the saying of the woman,
the coward, the weakling, the foolt A man, when his
grief cornea to him, he thanks the saints if it strike him
only. There is no more terrible misfortune, surely, than
to know that my sorrow is the sorrow of the woman I
love."

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THE HEALEBS

" Ah ! " cried Kenneth. TTjb ct? rang across the dark
water.

Giuseppe for a moment stopped rowing. This young
Englishman — ^his vas, of all visitors at the hotel, the
most evident perfect felicity. What meant such a cry!
The oars sank again languidly. The English — their man-
ners are always eocentrie. There is not a philosopher
among them. Giuseppe rowed on.

Presently Kenneth began talking fast and loud. He
told Giuseppe a lot about Dante, especially about the
" Inferno " ; he got down into the seventh circle and the
river of blood. He even said the whole lake was blood,
blood, blood, and if you once dropped into it you would
never be able to get out again, at least if you had mur-
dered a fellow-creature. Centaurs would run all around
it and shoot at you with their arrows, if you tried to
escape.

Giuseppe approved of Dante — U grandiatimo poeta
italiano; but though he had not read any of the
poet's writings, he was quite sure Dante could never have
said tlie Lago Maggiore was all blood. Besides, if it bad
been, you couldn't have seen it in this darkness. And as
for centauiB — ^well, well, the English are always ecom-
tric. There is not a philosopher among them. If the
signor fell in, he would hold himself up, he, who could
swim so admirably, and Giuseppe would probably pull
him over the side again. But it was advisable not to
f aU in.

" Of course," said Kenneth, settling down ; and he told
of the usurers who were in hell, and that Dante had not
understood, at £rst, why usury Aould be a sin at all.
" And it isn't a sin worth mentioning," be concluded,
" nothing like sending an evil man to hie doom."

Giuseppe was a philosopher, but at this stage he

crossed himself. Kenneth asked him, frankly, who he

thought was the better man, of the two, a usurer or •

281

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THE HEALERS

mardeieTt Giuseppe, from his standpoint as an Italian
peasant, did not liesitate to declare for the muTderer,
whereopoii, to his amaxement, Eeimeth handed him a
gold piece. Under such encourageniBnt GioBeppe was taa-
boldened to tell a magnificent story of his ovn youth:
how a cousin of his, beyond the monntains, far away,
yonder, a young man, hot-headed, had shot with a rifle
the oppressor of the neighborhood, the local baukar, who
had mined, through a mortgage, Giuseppe's uncle; and
how the Jury, at the assizes, had acquitted the Hon, in a
burst of triumph, and evvivaa, a halo of glory I

Kenneth listened to this story with great attention, and
when it was quite finished he asked to have it all told
over again.

Giuseppe complied, though he wished the Englishman
would leave oS muttering to himself the whole time in
an ondertone, while the weird, dead old tale was telling,
in the dark on the rippling water. From what part was
this cousin 1 From near Bergamo. Ahl Esmeth's
mother had lived — ^had been bom, he believed — at Ber-
gamo. He did not speak of his Italian blood to Giu-
Beppe. He knew nothing of his mother's antecedents or
oonnections. She had never been encouraged to refer to
them. All that proud, perplexed Scotch family had
deemed silence and ignorance beat. The name had been
Gardoni, Emilia Gardoni. Kenneth, unwilling to in-
quire, would have liked to know what was the name
of Giuseppe's hero cousin; he wondered why he wanted
to know. The lake was dark, and crimson. The sky was
slowly crimsoning. Surely the skies and waters of the
world, at night, were never crimson I Only the waten
and the skies of helL

Slowly, busy with his own reminiscences, the boatman
lowed back toward the shore. A long, long time he glided
over the silent water, Kenneth lay muttering in an un-
dertone, never ceasing for a moment.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

"After all," said the boatman at last, breaking the
oppreBBiTe silence between them, " my cousin enjoyed hia
triumph but briefly. There is a certain retribution in
these things — myatorioua, I admire hia deed, yet, of
course, it was wrong. From all points of view but that
of blind Qithnsiasm, it was wrong."

The figuie in the stem, while mattering on, said scorn-
fully, "You call it wrong t"

"I call it wrong. Fhiloeophy calls it wrong. And
Fate. Do you believe in Fate, signer?"

"In nothing else," said the figure. The voice was no
longer Kenneth's. Once the parched lips said, "God,
have mercy upon me I " and that voice was Kenneth's
•gain.

"II fata judged him guilty."

" Did he die ! " asked the man in the etem. His ques-
tion fell carelessly, in a flood of eager rubbiah that
Bounded like a Ifsal defense against visionary foea. " Hy
Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury, yon will certainly ad-
mit, if you examine the question over again — ^if only,
Oentlemen of the Jut?, you examine it over again, my
Lord "

" No, he did not die. He lost Mb leason."

" Aha I " The flgure stopped mumbling. " How inter-
esting 1 Unusual, I presume t"

" It 'vna not so very unusual in his family, signer.
And in so far, perhaps, we are wrong in aaoribing to a
special judgment of Fate on his crime in slaying the
osurer — ^yet I love him for it I — an ev^it that may only
have been a natural development of the trouble in his
blood. There was an hereditary taint, eignot. The maA.
was upon his race. There had been many mad among the
Gardoni ! "

The flguie that had listened toward the close in breath-
less silence r<Me in the stenu It rose to its feet and
stood etect for one moment, without sound or apeech.
18 283

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEES

Then it flung up its amiB, and, with a rocking more-
ment of the body, in the darkness, swung the light boat
to and fro. It was all done in ten seconds.

"Signorl" shrieked Giuseppe.

The boat was floating bottom up. Giuseppe had an
aim around it in the water. £enneth was swimming
through the still, black night to the shore. And as he
Bwam, gasping, he cried from time to time, "Forgive I
Mercy I " — cried it into the black and silent night.

He had capsized the boat not far from land. He soon '
felt the shingle beneath his feet and stood up, dripping.
Of Giuseppe he had no remembrance. The man righted
his boat and came back to the town to give the alarm
and spread the news that the young English signer was
mad!

Long before that, however, Kenneth had reached the
hoteL He ran all the way, muttering to himself and
Ci^ng. H'W one thought now was to tell Thomasine as
quickly aa possible that she was not married to hiin;
that she was free; the whole thing had been a mistake.
For surely the condition of his marriage to her had
been that there was no madness in his mother's family,
or, if there had been, that it didn't matter; and now,
yon see, it did matter, and there had always been mad
people among the Gardoni, and therefore, if he was mad
— as undoubtedly he now was — then Thomasine wasn't
If^^ally married to him at all; in a word, she was free!
He shouted aloud, and danced and sprang, hatless, drip-
ping wet, in the darkness and loneliness of the highroad,
along the lake, among the scented groves and gardens.
Sometimes he stumbled; he fell; he was up again, shout-
ing and shrieking, " Thomasine, you are free I " It had
been the one great oppression of the last twenty-four
hours that Thomasine's pure life was bound to his guilty
eziBten<%; bis soul had lain crushed beneath that weight
of misery. But now she was free, and what did it mat-

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

ter tlwt hs vas in hell) He must tell her. He must
tell her at once. Thomasine!

He stood in the entrance of the big hotd drawing-
room. Little groups were scattered here and there on
the' parquet, beneath the electric light. The fair Ameri-
can wsa playing dance music. A couple of substantial
matrons with muslin caps and spectacles were studying
the newepapeiB. A party of four sat, solemn, round a
card table. Thomasine reclined in the far comer of a
long sofa, reading her book. Kenneth saw Thomasine
only. The musician stopped her galop. The whist
players looked up, all four annoyed.

"I cannot understand," said one of the matrons in a
loud voice, behind her paper, " what the Oovemment can
mean 1^ allowing Russia "

" Thomasine I " cried Kenneth, " I bring you the great
tidings of your freedom! You're not married to me,
dear Thomasine, at alL"

In the dead silence every eye wandered from the di-
sheveled figure at the door to the young wife. She
dropped her book; she bent mechanically to recover it;
she clutched it to her breast.

** Kenneth I "

"Tee, ifs all right I I was in such a hurry to tell
you I ran all the way across the water, and I had no
time to cliange my clothes. Giuseppe explained it.
Ladies and gentlemen, I take you all to witness that
Thomasine Lisse is not my wife I "

She got up and came toward him, rocking to and fro;
the ground seemed to swell and sink beneath her feet.

"Dearest," she said aloud, "oh, dear one I My darling I
Come with me I Come away I "

But he motioned her back. " 2f o, that is just what we
mustn't do," he said wisely, " because. If we do that
sort of thing often, then how can we expect people to
understand t All the same, we're not in Scotland; no

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

Scotch marriages here I No, no t " — ^bia eyes traveled
round the drawittg-room — " I take you all to vitneaa that
we are not in Scotland I"

" Oh, dearest one," she said, " oh, my darling, come
awayl "

" I lost m; hat, but that doesn't signify. I was in such
a hurry to tell you, that I jumped from the boat You
will have to reward Ginaeppe. Ladies and gentlemen —
no, men and women, not« that I am in the full posaee-
sion of my senses. I belong, as a matter of fact, to
the sanest family in Scotland" — he laughed merrily —
"and I call you all to witness that this dear, darling
creature is not my wife I "

Before he could atop her, she had thrown herself upon
his breast, her arma were around his neck, her boeom was
pressed against hia heart. " My husband t " she said, " oh,
my husband I My husband!" She drew him, by the
sheer force of her lore she bore him. For a moment he
held back, and they hung in the doorway together. Her
arms were around him, closer and cloeer; she olnng to
him; she led him on. And suddenly he sank his head
upon her shoulder and w^it, crying like a little child.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXVn

r7, and in fact it would hardly be
feasible, to describe tbe full honor of the ensuing days.
As usual, in a crash of utter catastrophe, the church, the
poor, neglected, untbanked church, stepped in with ready
sbouldeTB and willing hands. Mild Mr. Huggina went
with Kenneth to the little semifumisbed lodgings that
Mis. Huggina had hastily dnsted and somewhat pulled
to rights.

Tbe hotel manager had insisted, after the scandal in
the drawing-room, on tbe patient's immediate departure
from Bellaria. Fortunately the poor fellow remained
quite calm, if only they would not leave him alone with
Thomasine. "It is most important," he repeatedly told
Mr. Huggins, " that this lady's name should not be mixed
up with mine." All be wanted was to be allowed to sit
by himself and ceaselessly to address bis judge and jury.

Alone in the hotel, in the early morning, deserted, the
young wife tel^raphed to Maria. Edward could not be
expected before the following day.

Miss MacCIacblin came across at once. She brought
Hortense along with her — ^"who is most eager to make
herself useful, my dear, and she really is a most capable
woman." "I love crazies. I have much experience of
, them," said Hortense. Maria cast a keen glance at her.
Hortense did not blench. "Poor mutton!" said tbe
smiling maid.

"To whom, pray, are you alluding f" demanded Maria.

" Sir Kennet — evidemment 1 "
Mr. Graye, you would say," corrected Maria irritably,

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEES

" These eccentricities, mademoiselle, they are for your
compatriota; we foreigners, we cannot follow them.
Also ' Kennet,' it is ho much prettier than ' Graye.' "

Hortense betook herself to the little house to make the
poor gentleman more comfortable. She diBplaced ereiy-
thing Ufa. Huggins had put down, aud every change was
an improvement. " Cea pretres maries," she muttered,
" ga me toume le caur." Mrs. Muggins's Freoch was of
the vaguest ; she felt that " turning the heart " must be
connected with conveieiou, so she smiled most be-
nignantly to the loud-ribboned Hortense.

She was a good soul, was the chaplain's wife. One of
her chief nonreligious comforts and secular beliefs, in this
world of ups and downs, was a pot of ointment for the
wart on her chin. This depilatory she brought, with
many nods and smiles, to the French maid. " Is it for the
nerves! I have none," declared Hortense. The chap-
lain's wife pointed to her companion's upper lip. " Ah 1 I
like my mustache," said Hortense. All her life she had
been big at lies; that brave lie remains her biggest. Uis.
Huggina went and told Maria that Hortense was much
impressed by the sight of the chaplain's matrimonial
felicity. " No doubt she has seen, in her own church,
what celibacy leads to," said Mrs. Huggins. " She seems
very well disposed. Could you not bring her into the
Anglican fold? "

"Plus lete que tout les moutona du monde," opined
Hortense. " MademoUelle devrail aoigner Qal "

On the evening of the second day Tbomasine met Ed-
ward at the station. " Yoti must give me back my hus-
band," she said. l£r. Huggins stood beside her; he did
not add, "With the Almighty's help." The poor little
bankrupt tea merchant really deserved better of his
church than a season chaplaincy and the room beside the
kitchen flue on the fourth floor of the hotel Bellaria.

Edward took his brother-in-law away with him at once

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

to Bardvyk. There wae no difficult}' about that, for in
outer appeaiances Kenneth behaved like amj other human
being. Hortenee went with them; Haria accompanied
Thomasine. The patient — if bo we must call him for the
time being — ezpTcaeed not the slightest objection, aa long
as it was quite certain that the part; would not pau
through Scotland on theii way. On thiB point he de-
manded to be repeatedly reasBured. He explained to
Hortense the marriage laws of hia country — what little he
knew of them; it Ib a subject on which most Scotchmen
have but confused hearsay information to give. Hor-
tenae replied that it was the most awful country in the
world. Xot for all the gold in Glasgow would die go
within si(^t of it I " Were it like that with us in Paris,"
she said, " I had been married a score of timee already! "
She added, "At a time." "What, if you speak to a
young man in a cafe and take an absinthe together (not
that / ever touch absinthe!), you are married to him —
fie I And if there are two young men, to which are you
married — eh t " To this leitsrated question Keimeth
could supply no technical response, but he eagerly ad-
vised her to read Wilkie Collina's " Man and Wife," then
a recent sensation. Hortense afterwards told her Paris
friends that in Scotland half the population were mar-
ried to each other without knowing it. " Puitgu'on ne
le sail paal " said the Paris friends.

To his scientific brother-in-law Kenneth explained the
situation wiUi logical persistence. After the first shock
he had settled down to his usual quiet, pleasant-mannered
existence. There was nothing about him that suggested
insanity — outside the one painful subject of his anxiety
to spare Thomasine. "We were married on the distinct
understanding that she ran no risk," he repeated over and
over again. "Therefore there has been no 'consensus';
therefore there has been no marriage. I must " — the tears
etood in his eyes — " I must try to forget her. She could

^lailizc.bvGoOglc

THE HEALEBS

not, yon know, be allied all her life to ■ mniderer; it
would be too ehocking. Thank Heaven, it ia not trne.
And ererybody Bays I am > muiderer, eo it must be tme,
tbongfa somietimea I do not quite see it myBslf. Bnt
when I try to aisoe it ont from the other side, they
raise snch a din that it is far better not to aigue. It ia
far better not to sq^M. Besides, I often see quite olearly
that tbey are right."

"Algae with him I Make him see iriiat nonsense it
is 1 " cried Thomasioe, as we all cry, when first brought
into contact with mental derangement. " Oh, I could do
it in ten minutes, if you would but let mel"

Edward diook his head, and, indeed, Kenneth, left
alone with his wife, could but beg of her, finally with
tean, to forgive him and to go. It was decided that
for the present she should accompany her parents to
Leyden. They had been staying with Laura at Bardwyk,
when Thomasine's snnunons came. Before they left, how-
ever, an important event occurred in the baroness's life,
which must be set down in the following chapter.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXVin

On the maming after Kenneth's arrival the old baron
and baroness migbt have been seen slowly progt^saing
through Bardv^k village by means of their customary
donkey ehay. It was a sunlit September morning, fresh
and crisp; most things, and most persons, looked cheer-
fnL The old couple, unusually silent, were thinking of
the daughter they had so sadly welcomed, of the son-in-
law who held aloof. Silent, in the literal sense, their
advance could not be called, although they shrank from
mutual converse, for the baroness sat up in the little
carriage, persistently ui^ng the donkey, who stopped as
soon as he no longer heard the "Hool hool" of her
voice or felt the flap of her reins. And, in fact, he
would have stopped even tiien — the use of the whip being
ruled out in the game as an unfair advantage — had not
the baron walked ahead, with persuasive tones and an ex-
tended carrot. The baron was a picturesque figure in any
case with his cloud of gray hair and fluttering habili-
ments. The bright carrot added a pleasant touch.
"Come along] comet cornel" said the baron. The baron
pleaded; the baroness prompted. " Get along, dol " cried
the baroness. " Do I do I " said the baron in a very differ-
ent tone; and held the carrot within a couple of inchee
of the donk^B advancing nose. Thus they slowly crept
along the winding lane between the still green hedges.
By the cottage at the farther end two fair-haired chil-
dren stood watching, motionless, serioos, intent.

"You are tiring yourself, dear love I" said the baron-
ees presently, " and, besides, Atalanta has long ago found

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEES

you out." At her birth, in a hoaiy antiquity, the aes
had been christened thus as a eort of inducjement to fleet-
neea; she had never even attempted to live up to her
name.

"2Co, no," contradicted the profeeaor. "Hope springs
eternal in the donkey's breast. The uame, otherwise, is
really too unsuitable ; it was the golden fruit which
caused Atalanta to go more slowly and to lose the race."

"The name was an extravaganza," said the baroness.
" Surely nothing is so deteriorating as an absolutely un-
achievable ideal."

"For a donkey, I grant you," admitted the baron.
" Not for a strong man." And he threw out hia breast,
and thought of the Semicolon. The seductive carrot he
pushed under the donkey's nose. It was done with less
than hie usual precision. Atalanta leaped forward; only
a stump remained in the professor's hand. The donkey
stood still.

" Hoo ! hoo 1 " cried the baroness, slapping the reins up
and down. The donkey marched.

" Now you've done it," said the baroness.

" She won't budge another inch," said the baron.

"Unless we turn her head. Shell trot home fast
Miough."

"Well, you'd better wait for me here, my dear.
Domper's cottage is only at the other end of the lane. I
shan't be gone ten minutes."

"Ten minutes! And you want to persuade a pious
Dutch peasant to disinfect the room in which his son has
died of typhus I To persuade him, when he thinks
disinfection is a devil's trick for intruding on God
Almighty 1 "

"Well, you can wait here just as well as there!" re-
plied the baron, a little put out.

" So be it. But, if I were a man, I shouldn't let myself
be mastered by a brainless she-ass! "

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

" If yon were a man, yoa would," said the baron, enig-
matically gaiing at tlie pale-blue eky. "It has been
man's — There, never mind I Come after me, if she'll let
you."

The baron stalked on, waving the foi^tten carrot
stiunp. Atalanta watched him complacently. But hardly
had the old man disappeared round a bend in the long
green vista, when a sudden amazement befell Atalanta.
A loud thud descended on her nnexpectant haunches.
The baroness, rising in the cart, smote the bbb with the
rolled-up manuscript of " Balaam."

" The professor is wrong I " she cried aloud. " If so
good a man as Balaam struck his donkey, surely we may I
I promised not to whip the beast, but this isn't a whip."

Atalanta, however, felt the indignity. She started off
in an angry little run, a sort of " no, you don't " jerk,
until suddenly, round the comer, she shied.

" Exactly like the other one I " exclaimed the baroness.
A tall black figure in knee breeches occupied the middle
of the road. It swerved to the right, but the baroness
had pulled the ass in that direction. For a moment ass
and priest played catcb.

" The angel of the Lord 1 " said the baroness under her
breath. The priest took off his hat and again attonpted
to pass. He and the lady knew each other by sight, and
no more; between Catholic and Protestant, in Dutch vil-
lages, a great gulf is fixed. The Protestant scoma, too
indifferent; the Catholic hates with unresting hate.

"Wait ft moment I Don't passt I have long wanted
to meet you," cried the baroness, in a voice trembling
with agitation. The parish priest drew nearer, in sur-
prise. He supposed that she wished to speak of some
case among bis poor, but even that was a very uausual
step. He glanced round anxiously. If some one were to
note their converse t The lane was empty — a few yards
off stood his own parsonage, with the little old Boman

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

Cstbolic clmrch beyond. The Bcene was very peaceful
and silent. AtaUnta drooped her ean.

"The asa turned aside in the path," said the baroncea
soft];.

" I did not hear it epeak," smiled the priest

"I hear it nowl" replied the baroness. "I mean — I
mean," her voice trembled, "it is as if I beard it. It
ifl as if it spoke to me: Behold the angd of the Lord."

The prieat's face changed. He was a tall stem-looking
man, with the air of an intellectual athlete. His wide
nostrils stiffened for a moment ; his eyes cleared. " No,
no," he said at once, as if to oversee the situation. " I
am a servant of the devil, madam. Every Protestant
donkey is afraid of me."

"Do not spesk so," said the poor, fluttering baroneaa.
"I have been wanting to meet with you for a long time.
I am very unhappy."

Again that stiffening of the priest's nostrils and that
movement in his eyes.

" I am Borry to hear it, madam. If I can be of any

" Tea, you can be of use ! This meeting is providential.
A woman, Mr. Priest, wants more than philosophy, or
dogma — especially an old woman; she wants religion."

" Tea — ah, yes 1 " said the priest.

" Tou have heard of this fresh great trouble that has
befallen us?"

"'No"; for in Dutch villages, to an almost incredible
degree, the two sections remain unconscious of each other.

"Hy new English son-in-law haa lost bis wits. We
trust it will be only temporary, but "

"But what, madam t"

She burst into t«ars. " Oh, I am so unhappy I Trouble

comes to us, and we have nothing to meet it with. I do

not believe in science. I have trusted to it, and waited

for it to come true all my life, but it doesn't. What can

294

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

the doctors do for usf Nothing. My daugbter-in-Uw,
with hei devil'i tricks, can do more than all the doctoral
Ah, Hr. Priest, in my old age my daughter-ln-lav has
tanght me to believe in the devil I I — I always thought
he must be there, but I never was quite sure. Now Tve
seen him at work. I can see him daily. But — but Tve
seen the other thing, too, all my life, if I only would
admit it. If the devil helps those that ask him, there are
saints that do the same."

" There are, indeed," said the priest. Atalanta put
back her eara.

The agitated baroness fumbled at her breast and drew
forth her amulet.

" It was this," she said, " not Laura, that saved Janies
Qraye. And now the dement«d Kenneth will not

" He is demented," said, pityingly, the priest.

" Bnt the others sympathize with him. And yet, how
often have I seen its efficacy I In the critical moment of
the fearful operation it reached the house just in time.
All through my life it has brought me good fortune. Bo
you not think it is wonderful it should do so, in the
house of a heretic! "

" The Blessed Virgin," said the priest, " is good even to
heietics. She follows the precept of her Son: 'Bless
them that curse you.' "

" We do not exactly curse her," suggested the baroness.

The priest saw his mistake. "I was not thinking of
good Christians like your Nobleness," he said adroitly.

" I am not a good Ohristian. I am one of those whom
Becan and Strauss have led astray." The priest shud-
dered; he saw that this impressed her, so he shuddered
again. "My husband is a great scientist — the greatest
scientist living; you know he is thatl"

" I do indeed," said the priest.

"He is a religious man also, an intellectual believer.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00glc

THE HEALEBS

Some day he will discover the cure of all physical disease;
that will suffice him. But for mental ailments no mi-
crobe will bring a remedy. Meanwhile, my son believes in
Charcot; my daughter-in-Uw in magnetism. Bat these
things are either a delusion or they are tricks of the
Evil One."

"They are not a delusion," said the priest.

"I know they are not. Have I not se^i them worict
They are tricks of the Evil One. And I am afraid of
him " — abe clutched her little imag& " Science cannot
combat him. I want help. I am frightened. I am
miserable. I want help I "

" The church gives it," said the priest.

She gazed at him as if eager to say much more held
back.

" Surely even your church," continued the priest, " can
give some sort of help in such need as yonrs."

She did not answer, and as her silence lengthened, the
pleased expreaaion of his eyes spread out across his mask.

" Surely," he said, " yonr religious teacher, your spir-
itual and apostolic guide " He paused.

" Oh I " she said, " the little minister." She slopped the
reins down on the donkey's back. Atalanta lifted up her,
head and brayed.

" I should not think," she continued, " of going to him
for advice. He preaches on Sundays, and he pays ua
viaita on week days, and calls me 'your Kobleneas' all
the time."

The prieat took the hint. "My daughter," he said,
"you need spiritual guidance; you must make up your
mind where to look for it. I do not know much about
your sect. My church — the church — has many ways."

"I have thought of it over and over again," replied
the baroness. "I have thought it out for months — ^for
years. There can be but one true Christian Church, and
ao it moat be yours."

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

Tlie prieet jumped, invardly, bo to speak. Outwardly,
he only said: "These things cannot be discussed like
this, in the public road, by a donkey ahay."

There vas seeming vexation in his tone, and she
hastened to answer: "But I am very much in earnest.
I say again, this meeting is piovidential. This mom-
Ing my trouble seemed greater than I could bear.
l£r. 1 "

" My name is Winx," said the priest.

"Mr. Winx "

The priest smiled. " That sounds stranger stilL"

She blushed. " What do people usually call you ! "

" Father Winx." He laid a fat white hand on the fat
gray donkey.

"Ah, that in itself sounds like all the comforts of re-
ligion I I have long wanted fatherly help," cried the old
baroness. " I feel orphaned in a world of sadness and
wonder. O Father Winx I"

"I think that is the baron in the distance," said the
prieet.

"Is itt" replied the purblind baroness. "Well, I am
glad he should see us together. I shall tell him. We
must soon meet again."

" I am always at your service." The priest stood away.
"This night — in the middle of it — if you realize your

" I must have time," breathed the baroness. " Give me
time. My Virgin — do you think she would be more efS-
cacioufi if she hung on a Catholic breast!"

" tTndoubtedly," said the priest.

" 80 I feel Tea, I feel that also," said the baroness.
" Would you mind turning my donkey's head In the right
direction ) "

"It will give me the gieatest pleasure," said Father
Winx.

Atolanta, however, proved very rebellious. The un-
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wonted gentlemaa in black knee breeches evidently diB-
concerted ber. Sbe kicked at his aable calves. And when
he exhorted her to be obedient — oh, my daughter I — she
lifted her liquid eyes to the heavens and brajed that she
was no daughter of his.

The hot priest saluted the professor. To the letter's
voice and touch, now that they guided her whither she
was desirous to go, Atalanta immediately showed herself
amenable. The old couple drove away homeward; the
thoughtful priest wandered into his church.

" You were having a talk, my dear, with the Bomttn
Catholic priest 1" began the professor interrogatively.

" Yes, my dear. Did you convince your man t "

"I am sorry to say no. He is absolutely certain that
disinfecting is tempting the Almighty."

The baroness smiled grimly. "I thought as much.
Who ever convinced a Dutch Ftoteetant ! They all know
better than each other. And each of them has a different,
the only, truth."

"Yea, my dear."

" Would it vex you, my dear, if I became a OatholicJ "

The baron's jump was by no means inward. It very
nearly took hiiri out of the cart.

"My dearl" he said, "are you speaking in joket"

"By DO means. Is it a subject to joke about! I never
was more serious in my life."

"Indeed I Indeed I I presume you have realized the
peculiar position of the papists in this country."

" Socially, you mean! I have never minded that"

" No, no I " — the baron was a little testy — " of course
not. I mean hiBtorically. Yon understand what an
anomaly they are in the development of Holland! It is
that I object to in them. The great wars of the religion
were a disease they ought nev^ to have survived. Those
wars were fought, amid the most horrible persecutions,
for religious liberty, by the pTotestants against the Oatho-

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lies, and the Protestants won. Now, surelj, speaking
phyeiologicatly — physiologically, mind you — from that
moment the Dutch Catholic became an anomaly! He
has no part in the greatnesa of his own country. Hi»
heroes are Alva, the pious Catholic; Philip, the beloved
of popes — ^fiends in human form to every other Dutchman,
Christian saints and soldiers to htm. My dear, the posi-
tion is palpably an absurd one. A Catholic may prosper
in any other country; in Holland he must feel ashamed
to be a Dutchman."

" I want a religion that'll give me something to hold
on by," said the baroness. Atalanta scurried homeward
with a clatter of impatience along the stony road.

The professor e3i.racted a little tin box from his waist-
coat pocket and took one of hie Jenkins's pills. "You
talk about the unreasonableness of our Protestants as
regards science," he said, " but people are much worse in
Catholic countries. At Naples, during the recent cholera,
the populace stoned the doctors. All they wanted was
that the blood of St. Januarius should liquefy."

"Well, that was something to hold on hj," said the
baroness.

" Not if it liquefied, Jane."

" Do not be profane, Thomas," said the baronees.

Her husband eyed her curiously. "Tou see nothing
un — unusual in the two — or is it three t — holy coats, both
genuine?" he said.

"I want a religion that'll comfort me," replied the
baroness.

" Or in the true wood of the cross that the pope dis-
tributes — enough to build a Noah's aric ? "

" I'm unhappy. I want to get away from all the
microbes of body and soul," said the baroneas.

" Or — forgive me, my dear, remember I am a scien-
tist — in the bit of Jacob's ladder?"

"No," said the haroneea.

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The profeenr aligbtad at his own door, or rather at
Laura's. " After that," mnariLed the profenor, " there is
BO more to be said, m; dear."

Father Winz stood in his Lad; Ohapel and surveyed
the dilapidated walls. His young curate stood beside
him; the young curate's face was sadder than the
priesfs.

"We shall have to tell the people some plain truths,"
said the young curate, "about laying up treasure in
heaven."

"Poor things I" answered the prieet, scratching his
din. " Some of them have very nearly brought their last
penny to that bank."

"WeU, it's a good investment," said the young curate;
" and, after all, while we build churchea the heretics have
o support our poor." He smiled. Father Winx smiled
also.

" There may be more money some day," he said.

" To tflston the Lady Chapell "

"Who knows f To restore the whole church."

"Father I"

" Or build a new one."

"Holy Uother, have we come into a fortune 1"

" The silver and the gold are mine, my son. The silver
and the gold are mine."

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXTX

It cannot be denied that the baroneee'e reeolye caused
the greatest conBtcmation to her little commimity. In
England, where secessions to Borne are bo frequent, it
would be difficult to realize what this defection from
Calvinism meant. The first thing that happened, of
course, was that the maid Eliza gave notice. This erei?
DOe had expected; as also that she would presently offer
with bitter tears to remain. " I. Corinthians fire, nine,
twelve," said Eliza; "and, really, that'll make it much
easier for me now than it was before. Of course, I never
thought my mistress was one of us, but now she can't
even pretend to be." The baroness read L Corinthians
five, nine, twelve, and did not feel pleased. But the real
enrprise was Eliza's, when she found her lesignation defi-
nitely accepted. Father Winz had provided, it appears,
a Catholic paragon. When that wooden-visaged female
took possession of the store cupboard and linen press,
Eliza earned the martyr's crown. There are moments
when art can do no better than to fling a napkin over
the face of the sufferer. " These preserve pots are very
old-fashioned," said the paragon. Let the rest be
silence!

"Do you mind very much, Thomasinef" asked the
baroness. " I should be aony to cause you grief, when
you have so much already. But — ah, mel I am so for-
lorn. I want a religion that'll be cleverer than myself t "

No, Thomasine said her mother must, of course, follow

her own conscience. " I am sure you are quite, quite

wrong, dear," she said, " if a daughter may say that to

SOI

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her mother. People don't really get nearer to God b;
using ■ number of go-betweeuB. But I understand what
you mean, and — O mother, life ie very difficult!"
Thomasine turned away hastily. She was absolutely
alone. She felt that between her and God any human
word, almost any human look, would feel like a blow in
the face.

Jane, the second daughter, not a very attractive girl,
going out a great deal at Leyden and The Hague, and
concentrating her eneigies on a personal " good time " —
Jane openly and shrilly proclaimed her annoyance. From
a Bocial point of view entirely she condemned her mother's
ill-considered action. "Mamma might have taken into
account," she cried, "how ridiculous it makes us alll
Nobody has ever done it before, except they were half-
witted, or wanted to marry. Everybody knows it isn't

the second with mamma, and so " She shru^ed her

shoulders. " It won't do my prospects any good, either.
EveiybodyTl fight shy of us now." In this, like so many
anxiously egotistical people, she caused herself unneces-
sary distress. It was true that society fell away a bit
from "the really too eccentric baroness" — "but I dare
say her husband's perpetual microbes are to blame t " It
became all the kinder, however, to her gay, gadabout
daughter. " Poor thing, she has no longer a home I "

The baroness dedicated the third daughter — at the
strictly Calvinistio Geneva school — especially to the Vir-
gin Mary, and insisted on her wearing only white and
blue. She was actuated by the fierce hope that this one
child, at least, would "come right." Like all converts,
she became in a few weeks more fanatical than any of
her Catholic acquaintances. She insisted that the house
should not contain a scrap of butcher's meat on a Friday
morning. The Protestant servants were all replaced by
protegia of the paragon. The professor (having quietly
and handsomely pensioned Eliia) minded none of these

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changes, as long as his laboratory was left untouched.
Besides, Friday's fish dinners, thanka to the paragon, vere
soon the most luxurious of the whole week. Even the
simple piofeasoT noticed that. But the effect was the
extreme contrary of what the paragon expected. "A
religion of foob," said the professor. Personally he re-
gretted "the Pivot," who, soon bored to death by at-
tempts to play the independent lady, the futility of which
she herself fully realized, presently declined the continu-
ance of the pension. " While I live I can work," she
said, and passed, with all the honors of war, to Laura.
Even a heathen witch was better than a papist. "We
must take the wicked world as we find it," said Eliza.
" At the beet, there's no more than a remnant. And Hol-
land's a. very little country; we can't expect to find more
than a remnant of the remnant there. It's lucky I'm
one," said Eliza. " I prefer authentic lunatics," she de-
clared after a week or two at Bardwyk. " My poor, poor
mistress I" Then she devoted all her spare moments to
the conversiofl of Hortense; for Hortense had remained
on with Kenneth, while Maria was doing a holiday
douche at Dr. Ducrot's.

The two maids were, of course, unable to exchange a
single word. This initial difficulty might have daunted
a less determined female than Eliza, but that heroic en-
thusiast bravely met it. As she sat over her needle-
work, and Hortense over the French comic papers in
the quiet servants' room at Bardwyk, Eliza discoursed
volubly, in her own language, on the mysteries of re-
formed metaphysics, discoursed by the half hour together,
almost without a break. When the French maid seemed
not to be attending, Eliza raised her voice. Once or
twice, as she bent over a highly colored illustration,
Hortense laughed, but that may have been emotion.
After three evenings she b^;ged Laura to inform the
Dutchwoman that she, Hortense, entirely agreed with
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her, was quite sure she was right. " Tell her, I entreat
of you," she said, " that she has eDtirel^ conTinced me.
Entirely, or I shall die." As an unexpected outcome of
this surrender, Elita, to the poor Parisian's discomfiture,
destroyed all the comic papers, and gave Hortense a
bird-and-nest illumined Dutch text. The text Hortenae
adroitly passed on to Kenneth, who angrily ordered her
to take it away, as it taunted him with the home he had
lost.

Thomasine dwelt, for the present, with her parents on
the Leydeu canal and supported the religious zealotry of
the baroness, who divided her time between reading little
books about the immorality of Luther and' composing
odes to her latest discovered saints. Thomasine went
and helped her father in the laboratory. " My dear," he
asked on the second day, " would you like me to say
'Mind'?"

"Yes," she answered, "if it isn't too much trouble,
father."

He looked up at her, and laid down his lancet. "I
wonder people mind about causing pain," he said, " in a
world where God causes so muck."

" Don't, father," said Thomasine.

Jane, persistently staying with friends and relatioiu,
wrote home scrappy accounts of perennial succeiss.

In the household at Bardwyk Kenneth had received an
easy welcome. Only James Graye fought a little shy of
him, for James could not rid bimeelf of the impression
that Barton and Kenneth had told him untruths. But
more and more James was banning to perceive that
what he thought untruths were often misunderstandings.
On his limited horizon the upa and downs were b%in-
ning to show a little less dimly. In his quiet way now,
learning daily from Laura, as an unintelligent, gentle-
natured child of six might learn, he lived a peaceful
round of placid existence, happy in the daily exercise of

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little kiDcbeBaes, of petty charities, gladdened above other
gl&diieeeeB by a passing " thank you," a grateful or even
onl; a friendly smile. Mauy of his kindneeeee were in-
fantile: a cake saved fiom his own tea for Hortense; a
flower culled in a thundeiBtorm — which he dreaded — for
Laura; but in all there was alwaya the sublime desire,
BO rare in children, to make sacrifice of self — not, how-
ever, an altruistic sacrifice. His whole little soul exist-
ence was built up on gratitude. He want«d to be good
to the people who were good to him. Goodness was
kindnesa, being nice. He adored Edward, who, more by
accident than design, had never caused him conscious
suffering. It was Edward who had taken away the pain
from his eyes, the Htrees from his head. He could look
into the sunlight now and see the birds flash, twittering,
among the flowers. They wanted to give him pets, but
he said ** No." The whole wide-open world, it appeared,
was pets to him now. And, unable to distinguish as yet
between wild animals and domestic, he could not under-
stand the captivity of anything that might run about in
his sight. Most "innocent" and different from other
human beings he remained in that be could not be made
to appreciate the value of personal possession. "But a
dog for your very own, James; a dog that you may
order about and teach to obegr you; a dog that nobody
else may play with." Of all this he comprehended noth-
ing. Bnt the first time he saw a bird in a cage, outside
a cottage, he burst into tears. He bought its freedom —
so eagerly that birds were hung up in cages all along
his road. The burgomaster had to interfere ; a trade was
rapidly developing round Bardwyk of birds for ransom
at two hundred per cent. Edward strove ceaselessly to
make the boy realize the conception : " I must keep some-
Uiing I don't want for myself." " As long as he doesn't
grasp that, he is a natural," said Edward. " Civilization
consists in the acquirement of superfluities. But James,
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THE HEALERS

even before be is satiafied, giyes away." In all these slow
derelopmentB of bis nephew, Keunetli was greatly inter-
ested. In fact, Edward and be frequently discueeed the
lad's case together. "He will never be a clever man,"
said Edward, "but at least be can be a. happy and an
honest one."

" That is more than most of ua achieve," said Ken-
neth, and he sighed. In all matters of daily intercourse,
and certainly in all questions of abstract argument, Ken-
neth remained the sensible, right-hearted fellow he had
always been. Only suddenly, without visible prepara-
tion, the terrible fits of depression would fall on him,
when he accused himself of having caused an innocait
death. " I am a murderer I " be would cry, starting to his
feet. " What business have I here sitting talking among
you, as if I, too, were a decent man! I am a criminall
If the laws were not so inadequate, men would come and
lock me away I " "I could have home my guilt," be
confided to Edward, "if the law had turned upon me.
I could even have found various palliations, I think,
for of course there are palliations; there always are. But
now that nobody attacks me, I cannot but accuse myself.
After all, the man died. I killed him. Had I not done
what I did, he would be alive to this day. And I did it
because I was mad, you see. Yee, I was mad. I had
always been. That has been the great sorrow of my life,
far worse than the looking after James; the knowledge
that sooner or later I must lose my reason, because it is
in the blood."

"You know you are not mad," Hortonse bad said to
him, but that bad brought on the single parox^m of
fury. "And quite right, too," said Hortense to herself
afterwards, thinking it out. " There's so many mad
people wanting to be thought sane, that surely it's hard
on a sane person if we refuse to think him mad." She
wrote full accounts to Maria MacClachlin, who was al-
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THE HEALERS

waya asking for later news. Tet of course there waa
never reallj any later news than the first. It ia no use
reasoning about a delusion such as Kenneth's t^t Thom-
aaine was still free. " You cannot many unless there is
a consensus," he said over and over again, " and a mad-
man cannot give his consensus; surel; that ia a law
among all nations. Tou do not deny that, Hortense!"

"No," replied Hortense, "it's nonsense, so I dare say
it's law."

" Send for Dr. Lisse," cried the indignant Kenneth.

Edward agreed with Kenneth. His great theory, on
which all his well-known successes are built up, is that
you must accept the unreason of the patient you are
treating entirely as if it were your own idea of common
sense. Having thus got into bis confidence, yon can then
influence him by suggestion, hypnotic or otherwise. He
waa trying all the Salpetrifire methods of psychic "de-
termination" on Kenneth, confident that at present, in
any case, there was no organic deterioration of the brain.
"You mustn't tell an insane person that you want to
bring him round to your way of thinking," says Edward ;
"you must travel round with him, or rather you must
travel biin round, so to apeak, unconsciously. That's the
only chance. KraSt-Ebing is right as far as he goes,
but I go farther. I know I can succeed by animal mag'
netism in many cases where hia mere hypnotism failed. It
waa my wife taught me that. Even functional disease of
the brain is curable by imparting new life energy. I have
frequently cured it. Only organic deterioration is hope-
less, as with the heart or the kidneys, or anything else."

" Of course," said the professor. " Find the microbe."

" So it is an understood thing," wrote Hortense to her
mistress, " that Sir Graye is not to be conscientiously "
(the right word was "conaciouely") "influenced. He
wishes to believe his relations were mad, and he therefore
also, and nobody may say him nay. I, mon Dieu) when
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THE HEALERS

I said to 1117 little brother ten times a day, ' Thou art
an idiot I ' Never did I understand that then I muit be
an idiot, too."

"Stuff and rubbi^I" cried Maria UacClachlin, indig-
nantly crumpling up the letter in a ^apely hand. " The
whole world is going mad with doctordom. The doctors
are the microbes of the race. Stuff and nonsenflel The
doctors t They torture the dumb creation and the sen-
tient human soul. That is what ihes call anaasthetics."
Then ahe rang for the Bportlng Chantilly widow, who ap-
peared with a long-drawn pale face and a hoarae cough.
The pale face Miee MacClachlin cannily aacribed to na-
ture, the hoarse cough to art

"Pack I" said Maria.

The widow started; she thought Bome of her pecfila-
tiona must have been found out. " I beg your pardon,
ma'am t " she stammered interrogativel;.

" I said, pack I " replied Maria, who disliked the widow
so intensely it was only with the greatest difficulty she
could get beiself to speak to her — fewer words than
necessary, generally looking the other way. "Pack; Pm
going."

" Oh, indeed, ma'am I " replied the widow, much re-
lieved, with that maddening cough of hers, " and which,
if I may be permitted to ask, as my poor dead husband
used to say "

"Half a franc I" said Maria.

The Chantilly widow be«an to cry — ^her other weapon,
less efficacious than the cough. The cou|^ as we know,
had been contracted (or, rather, the throat) by appealing
to the Seeting "hooshay"; the whine was the widow's
im- and opportunity. The frequent, and always incon-
gruous, allusions to the departed stable boy (largely aids
to commieeration) bad compelled the good-natured Maria,
in self-defense, to institute a heayy fine on the mention
of his name. For Maria MacClachliu's good nature had

bv Google

THE HEALEBS

ite common-senBG limitB; she was aware yon could torn
it sour, eo slie did her best to keep it sweet.- In ac-
cordance with her owd system of pracautionfi, she knew
she ought long ago to hare diamieeed the widow, but the
widow called Heaven to witness against such moDstrous
wickedness as turning her adrift. Once, indeed, the poor
forlorn female in a foreign country had feebly suggested
alimony, but ICaria was one of those unfortunate wealthy
philanthropists who consider it a sin to pauperize the
poor. Nothing is more destructive of a life's repose than
that conviction. It can only subsist satisfactorily on a
heart of granite; anything a little more porous it eats
away.

"Hortense never mentions her dead affections to mel"
cried Haria, with the asperity of a mind distrau^t.

"No, indeed; she wouldn't know where to b^in," re-
torted the Chantilly widow.

"Don't assert more than you can prove," admonished
Karia, who, like most old maids, was consumed with a
longing to hear something of the amiable frailties of her
entourage.

For only reply the Ohantilly widow started coughing,
till Maria fairly stamped her foot.

" Hortense doesn't cough," exclaimed Uaria. She was
powerless against the terrible Chantilly widow, but she
bad discovered one way of punishing her, and she
meicilessly employed it,

The widow stopped coughing and resumed her tears.
"Nor weep," cried Maria. For a moment the widow
stated, baffled. Then she said: "Not weep I Ton'va
never seen her, ma'am, in her cups and her hiccuie, as
my dear departed "

" Half a franc t " cried Maria, who never exacted her
fines. She rose. " It's no use," she said ; " you may just
as well give it up. Hortenscis coming back to me, what-
ever you may say."

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THE HEALERS

Th« Chantilly widow clagped her hands and waggled
her long face for several eeconda. " Well, they du Hay,"
she spake, as if to herself, " that the Scotch is lees
pBTti-citlar than the English where whisky's concerned,
but I have known English high-class families where the
mere mention of a seirant's drinking caused the lad;
to faU down two flights of ateiis. 'Cook's drunk,
ma'am,' says Parkins, and at them awful words Mrs.
'Arcourt "

" Go and pack I " exclaimed Haria.

"But in this country, where everything's Bs ordinaire
as the wine, as my poor husband used to say, which you
won't let me mention him, ma'am, tbou|^ he was as
humorsome a man as ever rode a horse, as good as taHn'
Punch — ^not the beveridge I don't mean, for a soberer
never stepped, but the Idiotical" (she meant periodical)
"joke paper with the hontin' pictures that he used to
say was the best "

"If everything isn't packed to-morrow at twelve, I
leave you behind with a month's wages," said Maria.

" To-morrow, at twelve, ma'am, and might I know "

" Ask at the Bureau for a time-table. Ill look out a
train. And mind I have my douche, as usual, at ten-
thirty."

"Wouldn't it be better to have it earlier, if we are
to start at twelve?" sold the ChantiUy widow. "And
perhaps, ma'am, you would kindly let me know "

" I think I shall telegraph to Hortezise to meet me at
Basel," replied Maria. Then she turned round with a
rustle of hei silks and immersed herself in an enormous
armchair and the " International Cry of the Cow."

But Hortense remained unmolested at Bardwyk, and
it was Hortense who first saw the char-A-bancs coming
up the avenue with the whole party, three weeks later,
and who gave the too tardy alarm.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXX

Kenneth was sitting hj the open window with his
account booka and papers, for he kept up, of course, the
administTation of bis nephew's Urge property, and he did
it as firmly and as clearly as ever. He had just written
8 letter to his agent in Scotland, pointing out very cour-
teously, but decidedly, lliat there mtist be something
wrong if two cottages wanted retbatching, the roofs of
which had not lasted two-thirds of what the others did.
When that letter arriTcd, " Why, I thought Ms own roof
wanted thatching I" said the agent, annoyed.

Kenneth leaned back in his chair, looking moodily at
the enrelope. AU the craving of his hungry heart was
for Thomasine. The separation was causing him agonies
— alternately aglow and aflame — which he did not, be-
cause he could not, confide to anyone. In his own heart,
despite all his make-betieTe arguments, he did not be-
lieve that Thomasine could, or would, marry again. He
was trying to tell himself so, and everybody, in the mad
hope that somehow, by sheer force of insistence, the thing
might come true. We have, all of us, even the sanest,
had that sort of feeling at times. And if it did not come
true, if he and Thomasine remained man and wife — well,
then she was not in a different position from other un-
fortunates on whom the cmel fate has fallen of finding
themselves wedded to the insane. It was an awful fate.
He had tried all in his power, in his wild love of her, to
annul the wrong he had done her; if the law, the church,
all the false paraphernalia of civilization, mocked his
efforts, then the injury became no longer his, but so*
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THE HEALERS

ciety's. And, indeed, it is a monatrons tiling that the
law should condemn the wife of a madman, carrying him
away from her forever to inexorable solitary celibacy.
There ia only one thing more terrible, and that is the
perpetuation of an hereditary curee.

Beflecting on these mercilesa realities with a heart that
was gradually bleeding itself sick, Kenneth lay back in
his chair. Close by he heard the voice of Laura teaching
James, from a highly colored, popular science book, to
dlBtimgaiah between the best known Tarietiee of singing
birds. Nothing interested the boy more, or as much.
Abetract things, like history — or even like fairy tales —
left him indifferent; it seemed as if he would never un-
derstand why anyone should wish to read or write. Whst
he saw was what he cared about; even an abstract God
dropped away from his comprehension. About birds,
beasts, and flowers — aye, and fishes — ^he would soon know
more than his mistress. There was plenty of water about
Bordwyk. One morning, by Laura's instructions, the
head gardener had shown James how to put a worm
on a hook and hang it in the shallow water. The lad
watched intently the wriggling creature at the end of
the line, saw it disappear, saw the roach flash out of the
water, on to the grass, with the naked hook right through
its throbbing throat Then suddenly, without a word of
warning, he lurched heavily, in all his rough strength,
against the inezpectant peasant and toppled him right
over into the dirt and duckweed of the ditch. He ran
home and told Barton he had killed the " deevil," for to
this personage he had been introduced by Hortense, who
que diable'd and didble'd every accident of her daily life.
" Ah, the deevil I " says Hortense, whenever anything
happens that she doesn't like. Sir James's tiny vocabu-
lary, with its unlooked-for extension on the natural
history side, was, of course, confined to the English lan-
guage; he was unable to express to the Evil One, when

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

next he encountered him, the regret he openly evmoed at
his leeuBcitation. The common people about the place set
down his action to the pure malignity of the idiot. They
listened, with a eenudeferential emile, to Edward's ex-
planation. "He oughtn't to be allowed to go loos^"
they said among themselTeB. In fact, when, shortly after-
wards. Tommy, the coachman's child, hanging over for-
bidden water for apples, fell in, he had the wit, as be
BCTambled out, to avoid a whipping by laying the blame
on Sir James. " The idiot," he Bobbed, " be comes be-
hind me, as I was standing looking up at the swallows,
and he shoves me in I I — I — wasn't — I mean, I was
thinking — and he — he frightened me dreadfully — hi — hi
— ^hi ! " A deputation waited upon Edward about seeing
that the idiot always had a companion in bis walks
abroad; which was agreed to. James, unable to usrsTel
the psychical entanglement of a cock-and-bull story, de-
clared his willingness to explain why he bad pushed the
little boy into tlie pond, if only be could remember having
done it. Edwaid began to compare this most interesting
case of automatic unconscious action with similar indi-
caticms in the rarer forms of criminal epilepsy. He was
grieved that the hoy, who bad always been such a good
boy, should develop these symptoTos, although he fully
realized, of course, as a doctor, the passivity of the pa-
tient. His clever article in the Neut Mediziniache Jahr-
hucher rests entirely on the presumption that James was
really quite unconscious of bia action, both before and
after, and at the time, when he pushed in the coach-
man's little boy. Bottenkofer's reply admits the b^oie,
and even the after, if you grant the subconscious or
latent perceptivity; but it cannot for a moment allow—
and, after all, that is the really important issue — the auto-
matic objectivity of the actual deed. Everybody now-
adays, in the scientific world, at any rate, is convinced
that HottenkHfer was wrong.
313

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THE HEALER8

" Theie's a earful of trippers driving up the aveauel "
called Hortense, out of breath. "If I could speak a
word of the language, which Is like coughing, Fd have
warned one of the gardenerB. I did try a lot of coughing
once, on Eliza, but G^e didn't seem to make head or tail
of it, she's BO stupid, and she only cooked me some nasty
herb tea ! " Hortense laughed shrill;, and turned, by the
window, to see the carnage draw near. "It's a bean
feast," she said; "no, it's Neapolitan singers; no, it's —
diahlel" Her breath failed her. A char-d-banc* came
wheeling round the gravel drive — one of those many-
seated conveyances which the Dutch, in lemembrance of
happy days in the country, call "Johnny Pleasures"; it
can never have contained a more motley, though it often
ma; have carried a gayer, company. Most prominent
among the collection of odd accoutennents and outland-
ish appearances was the tousled gold-red head, under its
blue veil, of the buxom Maria MacClachlin. That lady,
bigger than ever in a light yellow duat cloak, peered out
anxiously behind a curtain of the overloaded vehicle.
She waved a hand with a long white musket«er glove —
was it a symbol of peace, or an impioviaed Sag of
truce t Kenneth and Laura came out at the French
windows.

The van drew up, and Uaria descended — a difScult
operation — down a wheel. "Well," she said, with a long-
drawn sigh, "here we are at last." There was much ex-
haustion in her manner. She cast a rather nervous
glance along the double line and mixed jumble of figures
and faces, eagerly craning or apathetic, of her cargo ; then
she pulled herself together, and in a resolutely bright
voice, "My dear Laura," she cried, "I am delighted to
see youl" A pause — "Now, do say the samel"

Laura was horroi^atruck by the thought that the ener-
getic and compassionate Scotchwoman had probably col-
lected a supply of afflicted ones to "stock" Berdwyk.
314

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

" 1 — I don't think we — we've room,"
must go and aak Edward."

Immediate measures seemed called for. The cart must
not be unloaded at the door. " Oh, res, please call your
husbandl" said Ifaria. — "Ah, Hortenaet I trust you
are well. Would you let the old lady out?"

Like a shot, the French maid saw her opportunity.
" Ah, meessis," she called to the Chantilly widow, whose
long face was protruding over a hig, clerical, shovel hat,
" mademoiselle says I am to asaist you to descend ! "

Maria turned sharply. " Open the door," she said, " for
the poor old Italian, and don't play the fool I "

When Maria put on that accent, Hort«nee hastened to
pacify her. She turned a handle, and the chance of exit
thus once having been offered, the whole covey slowly
and solemnly staggered forth out of the coop which had
confined them, and, in epite of Laura's murmured and
mattered protests, spread itself in a conglomeration of
bundles, human and otherwise, around the central figure,
the impresario of the show.

" My dear Mr. Graye," said Maria ; " my dear friend, I
am delighted to see you looking so welL"

"Thanks," said Kenneth. "Physically, my health is
excellent. Psychically, of course "

" Of course," said Maria, more nervously still. " That
is just what we have come to talk about. These friends
of mine are very tired with their long journey; do you
think they might go in and sit down t "

" Oh, certainly, by all means I " exclaimed the ever-
courteous Kenneth, hastily stepping aside.

So, in spite of the uncertain opposition of Laura,
while the gardens were still being scoured for Edward,
the travelers trooped through the window and distributed
themselves in variegated attitudes of picturesque clumsi-
ness all over the large old-fashioned room. " N^one of
my friends speak a word of English, except the inter-
ai 315

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

preter," said Uaria. The CliantiUy widow, thus ignored,
started coughing. Uaria took no notice. Hortenae said :
"Tchahl"

The company, indeed, did not look bb it it nould prove
convenant with the English language, or with EngUshry
in any form. It was supremely, aouthemly foreign.
Manifestly its components most he located among the
Italian peasant class. There were, first, in a comer by
themselTeB, seemingly apathetic, but not devoid of a cer-
tain dignity, two blear-eyed, rather broken old men, with
parchmenty faces, lean, grizzled, in a black-stockinged
country dress, and, in company with them, a brigbt-
visaged, restless old spinster, as lean, as parchmenty, but
with a rainbow-colored scarf and a brillient red bundle.
Not far from theee — ^to the spinster's erident satisfaction
— ^was seated a portly, perspiring village priest, bucolic,
black-habited, in buckles, and a hat like a boat. The
priest's eyes were brown beads, and he betrayed a benevo-
lent interest in everybody and everything. More con-
sciously authoritative, with a profession to assert, a
lantern-Jawed, yellow-cheeked individual, probably an at-
tomey, had taken up a position where everyone could
notice him, fussing with blue papers and other documents,
in and out of a shiny leather bag. Inert and intentionally
unconcerned, sat beside him another gentleman, a fat
one, middle-aged, in a loose suit of shabby gray clothes,
muc^ the worse, like the gentleman himself and his limp
linen, for the heat and exhaustion of the journey. This
gentleman spread his fat hands on his fat knees, and all
the ten greasy fingers stood out against the gray cloth,
black-rimmed. The smart, polyglot interpreter courier, a
young man with a yellow mustache, had evidently found
imperative diversion in an ironical courtship with the
smirking Chantilly widow. It seemed manifest that the
latter lady was building up an airy edifice on a pin's
point, destined to an inexorable fall. Within two min-
316

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEKS

ntea Hortenee had realized the full delight of tbie dis-
covery. Que diable! she said under her breath. For once
she regretted, now the widow bos come, her Inabilitj' to
converBe with Eliza.

" These, then, are my little party," said Maria, with an
all-comprehensive sweep of the long musketeer glove.
" Ah, Dr. Lisse I " — for Edward had entered, breathless —
" I trust you will forgive me for thus sweeping down
upon you, for my object is a most excellent one, as you
will see."

" Will you tell us what it is! " said Edward.

"Mr. Kenneth Graye here, as I understand," replied
Maria, villi a graceful inclination of her head, " is an-
noyed by some information which has reached him regard-
ing the health of his mother's relations in Italy. Quite
right, too," she continued, nodding to Kenneth, and to
everybody else, all round, but especially to Kenneth.
"Most natural in these days of heredity. Formerly, all
we cared about was to know that our ancestors were well-
bom, but now we are especially anxious to know that
they were bom well."

Kenneth's face had been clouding over, like a tempest-
covered sky, but now, suddenly, he laughed — ^laughed
brightly. The sound of his laugh stopped the protest on
Edward's lips.

"In all my long experience of charity work," Maria
hurried on, " there is one rule that never fails and that
never must be lost sight of. It is, ' verify evidence.'
Whatever you undertake, make up your mind to verify
evidence. Hardly a day passes but there comes to me
some heartrending appeal for compasaion; the facts are
seldom quite so heartrending" — she glanced at her wid-
ow — " as the appeaL As for the number and size of the
falsehoods in daily fabrication" — she glanced at her
French maid — " all the world over, nobody can form the
faintest conception of that until he has tried a little veri-
817

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

TH£ HEALEBS

tying of evidence. Kenneth Graye, you axe a Scotsman ;
yon will agree with me that, in all things, a man should
ca' canny. Hoot, man, ca' canny 1 See me make you
ait up I "

This last exclamation, called forth by extreme nerroua
excitement, thrilled Misa If acClachlin with horror while
she uttered it. It seemed to hare no effect on Kenneth,
who, indeed, had sunk down in an attitude of collapse.

" UisB HacClachlin," said Edward, trying to draw her
aside, " may I have a word with yont " He added hastily,
in an undertone : " I do not believe in heredity, but Hr.
Graye does. There is the difference — he does, in defiance
of argument, and that is what you sane people can never
understand "

She broke away from him impatiently. " I meet him
on his own ground," she said; "why didn't you do thatf
— Tea, my dear friend Graye, we all agree with you. If
there is madnesa in your mother's family, then, of course,
you are hopelessly lost." Kenneth shuddered. " Hope-
leaaly. But is there? That is the question. I knew a
family" — she glanced round her audience, most of whom
could not, of course, understand a single word she said —
" I knew a family where was an estimable gentleman aa
sane as you or I, apparently saner. He wouldn't and
couldn't go out of his mind, he said. But he had to.
There was an heieditaiy taint."

Kenneth looked up. " What family was that I " he
demanded.

Miss UacClachlin's eyes leaped about. " It was my —
my French maid's," she said. " Ton remember, Hortense,
the case I am referring to "

" I should think I did I " cried Hortense, delightedly
catching at this unexpected cue. "It was my brother,
my own poor brother Alfonso. Ten times a day would
I say to him, ' Tu ea fov. Tu t» idioi,' and always, most
vigorously, he denied it. But it was no use; he had to
318

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

give in. It was the family — how oalle mademoiselle it-
rot I Ah, my poor brother 1 "

"Brother-in-law, Hortense," prompted Maria.

" BTother-in-law, yes, of course, or else 1, too, should be
crazy — g«e diablel A\, ce pauvre — Jouquinl Yes, that
was his name. I have often thought that his must have
been the same family as yours, meessis" — she nodded to
the Chantilly widow, whose maiden name was Judkini,
as slie was incessantly informing everybody on account
of the well-known importance of the Judkins connection
at Biddlecombe, where Josioh Judkins, the grocer, has
twice been mayor.

The widow bridled. " All my relations were Churoh of
England," she said.

Maria intervened. " That's right," she cried. " Verify
evidence. If all your family were Church of England,
then a Roman Catholic Frenchman can't be a relation.
And if there never was a deranged person among your
ascendants, then you can't have an hereditary taint"

Kenneth nodded his head. " True I " he said. Imme-
diately he relapsed into the some seemingly apathetic
position as before. One of the old Italians took snufF,
the other made a little querulous noise, and moved' Ms
hand for the snuffboj^ Their sister intervened, concili-
ating them. It was quite a little incident in the long
silence of the lay figures sitting there, impassive as a
waxwork show.

"And so," burst out Maria, "I traveled to the place
itself, and found out about the family, and hera they
are I " She flung out her hand. The courier stopped
grinning at the widow to tell tlie strangers that they
were being referred to. The whole semicircle of Italians
got up and bowed.

"I like that!" exclaimed I^auro, always enthusiastic,
carried away despite herself.

" Thanks. I went for facts from the flrst. I got facts.
319

^lailizccbvGoOglc

THE HEALEBS

After all, that remains the important point And here
are my facte. I knew it wouldn't make any impression
on your — on Mr. Qraye, if I came and told them to him,
or brought tli«n in writing. You mightn't hare believed
me, dear friend, or you might have thought I was mis-
informed. So Tve brought the facts with me. Here
they are I " Again that fling of the glove.

The younger of the two old men, having got possession
of the snuff-moU, here sneezed with a distressing ezplo-
aivenese. " Santa Maria 1 " said the priest.

" Here," repeated Maria MacGlachUn, " they are. You
can examine them for yourself, at your leisure, Mr. Ken-
neth Graye." Her voice was slightly ironical, and yet
very tender. " Permit me," she continued, " to present —
where are you, Antoine!" — this, with a turn of the head
to the courier, who was pinching the Chantilly widow's
finger tips — " Signor Luigi Campodolci." The fiabby
gray man rose and bowed ; " Sindaco of Valguicciola,
Signor Marcantonio Mancbipotti, notary public."

" Beale I " aaid the yellow gentleman, rising pompously
and dropping the leather bag — " his Heverenee, the parish
priest of Valguicciola"; the priest smiled, and waved his
shovel hat; " end last, but assuredly not least, the broth-
ers, and the signorina, Qardonil"

" But what have you brought all these people here for I "
demanded Edward.

"I have told you,'' replied Maria coolly. "Thty can
prove to my friend here, indubitably, as nothing else
could ever prove it, that mental derangement is unknown
in hia mother's family." .

Kenneth leaped in bis chair. " Giuseppe! " be cried.

"Si, tignor," said one of the older brothers, rising to
his feel

Kenneth stared at him wildly. "No, I don't mean
you," he sa:d. "But there was a boatman. Miss Mac-
Clachlin, at the Bellaria, who knew all about the Gar-

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

donis of Bergamo, and who told me de&titelr — definitely!
you miderataBd — that bo oner or later they all went
mad."

" Do you apeak Italian t " replied Maria.

" No. I can uuderetaud a little."

"Well, that's better than nothing. Dr. LiBae, let na
leave Mr. Oraye here alone with theae people. He can
then find out everything for himself, mthont believing
them influenced by me."

Edward hesitated. He did not believe the experiment
could do any good, but, then, neither did he see in it
much risk of harm. His own attempts at hypnotic
determination had remained entirely ineffectual with
Kenneth.

"Tea, that will be beet," said Kenneth Qraye. Left
alone with the Italians, he remained sitting some time
motionleBB, hia eyes on the ground. The tension was be-
coming unendurable, when the old woman said," jlAtm^/"

Kenneth looked up quickly. " I beg your pardon," he
said in English. " Tou must excuse me ; my mind is apt
to wander. Tell me," he turned to the interpreter, and
bis eyes swept the semicircle, " what the — ^notary has got
to say."

" Ceai fd," replied the courier briskly. He grave a
twist to his fair mustaches and called on Signor Manchi-
potti. The yellow gentleman in rosty black gathered up
and let fall his documents all around him, aa he began
reading rapidly, with splendidly sonorous vowels, long
sentences, in which the word reale alone seemed to roll
forth into prominence — rtale — ale — ahi

None of the others listened. Kenneth plucked at hia
own kneea, peiplexed.

" If I were to explain first," said the bored interpreter
suddenly.

Kenneth jumped at the idea; the notary, much pat
out, sat down.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

"In the district of Bergamo," b^an Antoiue, eiaanta-
ating yery slowly and cleaily, and aelectisf tbs simplest
Italian words, "there have long been two famlliee of
Gardoni, aod one of them is not Qardoni at all, though
few nowadaTs know that. At Valguicciola, in the moun-
tains, live the original Gardoni" — ^the three old people
nodded; "honest cultivators "—they nodded more vigor-
ousl;. "You follow me, signor!"

" Yes, yes," said Kenneth impatiently.

" Fa bene. Early in this centary, in the Napoleonic
wars, R daughter of their race was led aelray by a French
soldier called Dupny. She followed him to Bergamo.
He deserted her there. Ker descendants live in the town
to this day; they are well-known drinkers and brawlers.
One of th^n, some years ago, committed a murder under
dramatic circumstances, which gained great notorie^.
They call themselves not Dupuy, but Gardoni. They are,
as I said, well known for their reckleBsnesa, and for the
strain of madness that ie in them; and, because of the
noise they make, ' Uad ae a Gardoni ' has become a say-
ing among the common people of Bergamo."

"Why do you tell me all thiat" exclaimed Kenneth,
his great eyes flaming. " I have always avoided learning
it. I feel that Dr. Lisse knows it. I h&ve asked him
once, but he did not reply."

" He does not know what we know," answered Antoine
in English; then he resumed his slow Italian. "The
original Osrdoni live in their valley, unknown and
aahamed."

"Not No!" protested one of the old men; be waved
his skinny fingers.

"Peace!" commanded the flabby sindaco, pulling him-
self together.

"Not ashamed," corrected Antoine, "but unknown.
Tb^ avoid Bergamo. Yet one of them, tired of poverty
among the mountainB. settled there some fifty years ago

j.,r,i,z<,.f, Google

THE HEALEK6

as a tavem keeper. His brotheiB were angry with him
for doin^ ho — eh ? " The interpreter turned to the three
old peasants.

"8i! 8i!" tbey all said with animation.

"It was this man's only danght«r Lucia, Mr. GraTe,
whom your father met at his little osteria, and married."
He paused.

" And what does all this prove f " asked Kenneth in the
silence.

"The sindaco and his Reverence are here to testify
that the record of the Oardoni family of Valgnicciola is
clear of all noticeable aberration or excess. The Notary
Public and Boyal of Bergamo " — Signor M&rcantonio
bowed — "will prove to yoiz by documentary evidence, ob*
tained at great trouble and cost — ^but mademoiselle said
she minded not these — that the same can no wise be said
of the I>upu7S of Arr6By-le-D6me in Auvergne. Dnpuy
is the commonest name in France, signor ; it has not been
easy to trace the runaway soldier. It was done through
the French ministry of war. Once his villsge discovered,
a very small one, the rest was soon known. The soldier
came of a wild race ; he had run away to the wars with-
out awaiting the conscription. His name was notorious
in the region for poaching and drinking. His father, a
red-hot Republican, had led the sack of the chat«auz in
the vicinity, and had gone mad over his own theories.
The name occurs repeatedly on the books of the public
asylum of Clermont-Ferrand. The taint of drink and
madness in the pseudo-Gardonis of Bergamo is the taint
of the French Dupuys." He stopped.

" Evviva ntalial" said the sindaco, smiling.

Kenneth had sat listening intently, straining. His
eyes had been fixed on the courier's face; now, without
moving them, he said:

"Ton have all this in evidence?"

" The documents are waiting, in French and in Italian."

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

" And these, if I understand her aright, are two uncles
and an aunt of my mother'a ! "

" Exactly."

Kenneth rose and went up to them, taking their hands,
one by one.

" lo le ringratio tanlo," he said. " Orande viaggio.
MoUa sianchexza. Qrazit"

" Niente," said the old people, greatly confused.

The old woman would have dropped a courtesy to her
grandnephew; he held her up, clasping her withered
hands, looking straight into her eyes.

" Mi kanno fatto moUo bene," he struggled on, " Orazie,
Mi kanno aervafo. Mia moglie ringraziara."

Thereupon the old woman began to cry piteoiuly, and
even Antoine, who had been smiling to hear the (xonio
Italian, gravely left off.

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER TCTtTTI

"Well*" said Maria MflcOlachlin. "Weill"

££nnetli sat, with all the papers, blue and yellor,
spread out before him, between the sindaco and the
notaiy. In hie own painstaking maimer be was going
through the evidence, now that it bad been brought home
to him — an odd figure, had it not been 80 pathetic, of a
man proving to himself that he needn't be mad.

" Tou see," relied Kenneth, looking up, " how irresist-
ibly right I was. I cannot understand the professor and
— and Edward. Look at the line down from this obscure
little French village, down into Italy. There is no escape
from it. The race is doomed."

" I admit it," said Maria.

" Absolutely condemned, from the first, against its wilL
There is no so certain heredity as madness. Fifty yeara
hence the law will forbid such races to marry."

"It will," said Maria, "but the very heredity of it
proves you are free,"

He got up, and, excusing himself to his companions,
led her into another room. He stood for a moment look-
ing out of the window; then he asked, in a low voice,
" Did you think I was mad} "

"No," she replied enetgetioally, "only the victim of
error."

" That is the fault of the mjd doctors. Once they get
bold of you there is no hope for you. Tou must either
think exactly like everybody, or else you are abnormal,
deranged."

Maria took good care not to point ont to him bow un-

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEES

reaaonable he was, aa vra all are with our physioiaiis.
Wh;, it was he who had insisted, till yesterday, that it
was an issnlt to common sense to look upon him as sane.

" I must go to Thomasine, if she will have me," said
EennetL

" Ah I " said Uaria.

" You think she will not t " he inquired anxiously.

" I was smiling at your ' if.' "

" Because, you know, even now I am by no means what
Edward Lisse would call ' sane.' "

" She will take you — she would always have taken you —
as you are."

" But I was right to stay away from her as long as I
believed that curse to be upon me," he persisted. " You
admit thatt"

"Yes, I admit it," said Maria.

"The fear has been upon me all my life. It was a
vague horror at home — a thing never to be mentioned.
I don't know how I first heard of it. As a small child, I
suppose, before people thought I understood. !My mother
knew; it made her miserable. She died young — in the
cold Scotch home where no one understood her. It seems
that her father had quarreled with the others, when be
left them — th^ say so ; she deemed herself of the shame-
ful race, those of Bergamo. And I never inquired, for
dread of discovering yet more."

" Edward XJase inquired and found out all wrong, about
the crazy ones only," said Maria triumphantly.

" In later life my father and my brother used to dis-
agree. I think my father soon repented of his romantic
marriage. My mother was never mentioned, but when
my brother did things my father didn't like, my father
would say to him, ' You're mad, like all your mother's
family.' I have several times — oh, too often — beard him
say that. Yet the things my brother did were far from
insane. He was a Liberal in politics, while my father was

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

a Tory, He married a poor girl, pretty, and exceedingly
pioTis. But lie was aane enough, except at the end."

" I know," said Maria.

"Then James was bom." Kenneth ehuddered. "My
life has been a gloomy one," he said simply.

" But it is going to be brighter now." He let thu pass.

"You are the kinde&t woman in the world," he said
brusquely. "You will kill yourself for others, if you
don't mind."

"l ehall mind."

" I don't believe you can help it. Tou can't see man
or beaat in pain without flying to the rescue. There is
nothing you wouldn't do for sheer pity."

She knew what he was referring to, and she hastened
to say, " Yes, for sheer pity."

" Fancy offering to tie yoaieelf down, from sheer pity,
to the care of an idiot and a monomaniao— — "

" Don't," she interrupted him. " That is long ago. It
was merely an impulse of pity."

He checked himself at once. "You are as noble a
woman as ever lived," he said. " Blessed, bleaaed are the
pitiful, for they, too, shall find pity."

" God grant it be so," said Maria, and with that ehe
had to rest content.

Such contentment would have been easier had att things
henceforth gone well with Kenneth, but this waa not the
case. With inherent courtesy he had turned the bright
side to Maria, for he realized, and was most unwilling to
underestimate, the great service she had rendered him.
That comedy he could not keep up toward his wife.

At the first summons, Thomasine hurried across from
Leyden. 6he arrived that night. "I have alwa;a said
you ought to go," sai^the baroness. " A wife's place is
at her husband's side. I should never have deserted your
father." This reiterated reproach had not been the least
of Thomasine's trials during the last dull weeks at Ley-
827

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALEES

den. Her appeals to Edward had been met by the invari-
able reply that Kenneth himaelf entreated her " to foi^et
him." Her one attempt to epeak with her husband, to
plead with him, had gone down in a heartbroken failure
too terrible to contemplate. " For Qod'a sake, have pi^
on me 1 " Kenneth had moaned.

The profesaor told ThomaainB, gently, she must be
thankful her husband still remembered and loved her.
" As a rule," he said, " in cases of this kind the patient
is filled with aversion, declares that ' he does not know
the lady,' insists that he is married to some one else."

" Is that worse i " asked Thomasine.

The baroness, unspeakably comforted by all the re-
soorces of her new-found religion, went about saying all
sorts of prayers in all sorts of places. She searched for
the right kind of saint, as some people go through a suc-
cession of pills. Yet it must be admitted that, being
hersdf attacked about this time by a persistent and in-
curable toothache, she sneaked away to a somnambulist,
who, to her great indignation, advised her to have the
tooth out. Now that was a source of much perturbation
to the baroness; for, on the one hand, she was struck
with amaiement at the clairvoyant's having discovered
what was the matter with her — although she had held her
palm to her swollen cheek, imperceptibly, as she fancied,
all the time during her visit ; on the other hand, she was
firmly resolved not to sacrifice any of her few remaining
molars, and yet did not see her way, at present, to under^
taking the necessary pilgrimage to Biirenbach, "where
the teeth of the most aged, my dear," said her most recent

friend, the Catholic Baroness C , "have been actually

observed to grow out of their gums."

" I should not like that," said the baroness rather tartly.

"Oh, my dear, can you doubt the saint's wisdom?
They stop in time."

The baroness, by her persistent churchgoing at such

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THE HEALERS

hours aa were most inconvenient to her eurroundinKS ; b^
her frequent fasts, falling lucklessly on other people's
birthdays and holidays; b; all her paraphernalia of dif-
ferent rights and wrongs from her Protestant neighborB,
was rapidly making herself, not despised — that, perhaps,
she would hardly have minded — but ridiculous. For,
affect what we will of lai^e-minded toleration, we all
Bcom B piety which we do not comprehend. And the
baroness, by her former intellectual eccentricities, had
aronsed a good-humored banter, to which she had by no
means objected; besides, her undeniable olevemess and
knowledge had carried her through. But Dutch Cal-
vinism, with its hard intellectuality, can see in a relapse
into the old Roman Catholic symbolism only a softening
of the brain. This the baroness learned with dismay. It
was a deeply humiliating trial to her. But she held on.

" Uy dear," she said to her husband pathetically, " you
don't think I'm a blethering idiot ? "

" No," said the professor.

" Pasteur, yon know, believes all I believe," continued
the poor lady.

" Yes," said the professor. Presently he added, " Pas-
teur is the supreme intellect of his age. I wish — oh, how
I wish — that / could believe that the blood of Bt. Janu-
arius, when it liquefies, stops the cholera, and that twenty
masses at eight frsncs each are good for thirty days of
purgatory I "

The baroness shook her head. " You haven't got the
figures right," she said sadly. But the old man lay with
his cloud of gray hair on his dusty writing table. " If
only I could believe all that you believe I " he said. " For
a man of science, our Prot«stant religion is too little,
and not enough I "

" If only you could become aa a little child I " wailed
the baroness.

" Yes, my dear," said the professor humbly.

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THE BEALEBS

"PssteoF belierea it all," repeated the lady, a little
fretfully.

"He bad not 1117 atarting point, dear; you must take
that into account."

" But I had I " The baroness dropped a tear on
" Balaam." She was obliged to rewrite the whole work,
from the begiiming, changing altogether her point of
view. Whole passages had to come out in which the asa
talked as a Protestant The animal now swore " by St.
Joseidi," and spoke prophetically of his favored descend-
ant (in the direct line) who should convey the Holy
Family, along the identical road, into Egypt. What
with this rewriting, and all her odes and hymns and her
intenmnable churchgoings, the poor baroness had leas
time for household duties than erer.

The paragon cheated. It was the one joy, the fierce
joy of Eliza's bleeding heart, Uiat she did. Half the
night, on her sleepless pillow, Eliza would weep to think
of the paragon making arrangements with the butcher
for a daily half pound of meat, writt^i down but unde-
livered, and the profits divided — ah, me ! " She will never
notice it, poor old dear I " sobbed Eliza. " See what comes
of deserting the religion of your fathers I Half a pound 1
And meat up a whole halfpenny again ! " Here her feel-
ings got altogether the better of her; she lighted her
candle and reached out for her little book of devotion.
She opened it and read: "The righteous shall flourish
like a bay tree." Eliza smiled. She did not know what
a bay tree was; she fancied it to be a hortensia. The hor-
teneia is, in appearance, a soft and delicate pink — ^when
not a rather ghastly blue. So Eliza blew out the candle
and laid her head on the pillow and slept.

Thomasine had been very pleasant in the house, and a

great comfort to the troubled professor. Also she bad

done much to smooth over the baronesa'a social ruptures

and philanthropic upsets. But now Thomasine was going

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back to ^imeth. Tlie second daughter, Jane, refused to
return home, clingiiig angrily to ber worldly acquaint-
ancea and relationa at The Hague. " Maman a'eat faite
*mpo$nbh," she wrote to her father in the alipehod French
of her surroundings. "Je ne veux pas qu'elle gate (non
avenir. I have already told Billy " — Billy was the namie
of a young officer that frequently turned up in her let-
ters of late — " how I mock myself of the religious Dps
and downs of maman." The baroness, then, built her hope
on the youngest daughter, still at Genera. She would
return, to lift some of the weight of literary- labor off her
mother'a drooping shoulders — ^in other words, to under-
take the copying of the converted " Balaam." Meanwhile
the baroness wrote to her, eagerly urging her to wear only
the white and blue clothing, to which she — the baroness
— attached ao much value. " Bend mo a photograph I you
will feel the blessing of it," she wrote. The young girl,
unable to bear the ridicule of twenty Calvinist school-
fellows, secret^ sent a photo in which an ecru dress with
fawn-colored ribbons came out white on white. * My
dear child I" said the baroness, pointing to the framed
picture. " Ify youngest I Dedicated, you see, to the
Virgin. It most have its effect t " — this, imploringly, to
the Baroness C .

" Indeed, it must have its effect," said that lady sym-
pathetically.

" I have often wished," the baroness went on in medi-
tative accents, "and wondered, ii I could do it to the
professor; would it" — she paused and sighed — "have its
effect t"

The other lady smiled. Beally, this new convert was
too fatuously ignorant. "Uy sweet," she said melMu-
ously, " you surely know it is only the very young "

"I know, I know," interrupted the baroness hastily,
" but it has often seemed to me his soul is very nearly like
that of a little child. And he is so anxious to believe."
S3 3S1

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She crot up and went and stood in front of the portrait of
her daoghter in £cru and fawn-colored ribbona. The tears
cotused down her worn old cheeks. " O blessed Vir-
gin 1 " Bbe whispered, " Mother of Pity, like the sonl of a
little child."

Thomasine found her husband alone on the greensward
that atretchee down to the water, in front of the house.
Evening was falling; the shadows of the great beeches
and chestnuts lay long across the grass. A crowd of
white ducks were about his feet, and he was feeiling them.
He had given up expecting her; the train was late; he
was weaiy with waiting. She came softly over the grass
behind him. " Kenneth," she said. He turned, and flung
forward, grasping her in his arms; that was all. As he
tnmed, he dropped his basket of bread, and a great flut-
tering and cluttering of the ducks rose all aroond it.
Their turmoil sounded violent in the still night air. The
husband and wife held each other embraced.

" We must never part again," said Thomasine, at length.

She stepped aside, and a great sadness swept over his
face. "You cast in your lot with a murderer," he said.

" Dear Kenneth I "

"Husbl Let UB understand each other clearly. Let
there be no mistakes. This discovery — or proof, call it
what yon wiU — this fact, that my mind is not deranged,
that I have no righl to think my mind deranged" — he
spoke with strange incisiveness — " it is a blessing, Thom-
asine, and it is not,"

" Kenneth I "

"I — O Thomasine, I was not sorry to -think myself
insane. Now that I look back, I see it all too clearly.
But I felt it all the time. It was a relief to escape to
that thought. I fled to it. I hugged it I clung to it
They have taken it from me. And they have done weU.
In BO far as it kept me away from you, it was agoi^, Ood
alone knows what agony; but, but" — his voice broke

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down; th« tears stood in his eyes — ^"I could only come
back to yon a murderer, and so I come back now."

" But, Zenneth, darling, surely "

Then he told her, in short swift sentences, of the letter
that Abrahams had written, of the blood that was on hie
— Kenneth's — head, " Innocent blood," he said. " It was
almost a relief — nay, it was a relief — ^to think that, when
I thus compelled Abrahams, when I drove him by sheer
force of terror to obey me, it was the deed of a man pos-
sessed. Madness was my one escape from grnilt, and my
mind unconsciously but eagerly snatched at it. Now, I
know it was otherwise. I am responsible for my actions.
I am responsible." He broke down completely for a mo-
ment; then he steadied himself. " I am a murderer," he
said. " Is it better to live with a murderer than a mad-
man i Speak."

" I will live with the murderer," she answered.

"But you would have lived with the miiilTnBn, tool"

" I think not " — and even in the gathering shadows she
saw his face flush up with relief — " not if the doctors had
forbidden it. You see, even to you, who were not mad,
I did not come as long as you wished me not,"

" It was for love of you I wished you not."

" I know, dearest. And it is for love of you, for love
of you, that now I come."

" But see," he persisted, " the blot is on my souL Oh,
I have dreaded this moment, the awakening 1 How often
have I dreaded it, through the sleepless hours, have
dreaded it and put it off, and rejoiced to know that I
was only mad. Only a poor tnadtnnn | You cannot con-
demn a maHmmi EvcD whcu the Fope is round his neck,
some one runs up and says: 'You mustn't hang him; he
is mad I' — and they detain him during her Majesty's
pleasure."

" Kenneth, do not speak like this I "

" Dearest, I cannot deceive you. Ofa, how I wish I
SS3

3,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEB8

could I I cannot. I dare not. It wonld be OBelesa. We
oaimot atart to-ni|rht to live a lie. The veight is on m;
aouL The — ^the veil is before ni7 eyes. The world ia
da^ I killed the man. And I robbed bim first. If
70a think it out, it was deliberate robbeir. Be bad paid
the money which I made him pay again. And the rob-
bery led, as it 80 often does, to murder. And he was
innocent. He told me so with his dying breath."

She drew her husband's arm through hen. Slowly
they walked down to the silent water. The dncks only
rustled and p&ddled and quacked. The moon hung, a
narrow crescent, in the deep-blue water and in the deep-
blue aky.

" Ton and I, we will face it together," she said.

c.bv Google

CHAPTER TTTTTT

But an hour later, alone with Laura, she broke down
and &vng herself Bobbing on a couch. Her sieteT-in-law
drew olose to her. It was not in Laura's character to
evince inarticulate aympathy. " Poor thing, I am so
8on7 for you I " she said.

Tbomesine Bat up and dashed her hand across her eyes.
" Why — ^why should you be sorry for mei " she said. " It
is nothing. I am only nervouB."

Laura shook her handsome head. She atood there,
looking, as ever, too modem and too fashionable for her
surroundings, in her light evening wear, with diamonds
about her arms and neck. Tet no specialist husband,
whatever his specialty, could have had a more helpful
helpmate. Besides his n^^lar work at the great Qovem-
ment Lunatic Asylum, so strangely called "Wits-End,"
Edward had recently started a small home for pauper
idiots on whom his operation could be performed in die
village. The villagers were not particularly pleased at
this. Preparations were also being made at Bardwyk for
the reception of three suitable patients belonging to the
higher clasBes, as soon as Kenneth should be able to leave,
pati^ita fitted neither for the public asylum, nor for that
perhaps still more hopeless prison, the expensive private
home. Applications Edward of course had, but as yet
they were only from the relatives of clinical patients,
from the very poorest, and even these mostly conditioned
that there should be no tinkering at their dear ones' heads.
In fact, Edward Lisse's position was a very difficult one.
A persistent wind of antagonism against his disooveiy

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THE HEALERS

had gradually aiiaen in all the medical centers of Europe.
In America they were more tolerant, open to conviction,
but aa ;et unconvinced. As a rule, the medical is tbe
least conservative of the professione, for in their utter
incertitude and tomfoolery of ineffective noatnims the
doctors naturally snatch at any new chance of an acci-
dental success. It is that which so enrages them against
patent medicinea, the thought that, possibly, here might
be the opportunity ef doing something, only the other
quack will not tell how it is done. Edward, however, fell
between two schools. The surgeons, while fascinated by
every form of " section," tnmed in scorn from the meth-
ods of the 8alp€tri3re, and openly proclaimed even the
immortal Charcot a three-quarters humbug. The school
of JSancy, on the other hand, went so far as to declare that
probably, with care and patience, Edward's effect might
have been obtained without any "section" at all. For
this they could never adduce any proof, and, in medicine,
after all, results are more important than in the other
professions, because the world looks out for them more
eagerly. The theologian who maintains that wrong is
right, can find few to gainsay him ; the lawyer who proves
it to be so meets with general commendation, but the
physician finds his fallacy unexpectedly exposed by death.
A couple of learned Germans tried Edward's operation,
but without the genius of his touch, and certainly with-
out the " magnetic " after-treatment. Both subjects suc-
cumbed. Thereupon began that great and reverberative
onslaught which was so ably and voluminously sustained
by Bchlagenbacfa and Dumpfmayer. It proved, ultimately,
that Sir James Qraye was dead. That was the one thing
wanting t» make this egregious trickery palpable to all.
Qerman scientific argument eaeily supplied it.

To the poor professor these immense international
squabbles — the storm in the little medicine pot — were a
source of great affliction. He was pleased with his son's

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THE HEALERS

euccess, so far as it went, but Ms sjmpatliieB were with
DumpfmaTeT and Schlagenbach. He appreciated their
scientific basis. He wished Edward would see the value
of microbic investigation. A hopeless sight The whole
dispute might have been avoided had James Graye been
aemicolonized at the time.

"Ton are looking quite fagged again," says Laura to
her father-in-law, " Is it your old sleeplessness ? Don't I "
— with extended band she stops the Jenkins pill. "Let
me put you to sleep once more! " And to sleep she pnts
him, protesting.

"It is absolutely," stammers the professor, "unsoi-
Bci-si — " and he sighs himself awi^, peacefully, into
oblivion.

So Laura, having finished her day — one of unusual
weariness — ^with James, and having done, with Eliza's
aid, all she could for the nnmerons Italians, now laid
down the French novel she had juBt taken up, laid it
down beside the box of chocolates, and the great vase
full of brown oak leaves and lemon-colored chrysanthe-
mums. " Thomasine," she said, " I know." She took out
one of the big silver-paper bonbons and began deliber-
ately peeling it. But that was to hide her nerrousnesfl,
for her slender fingers trembled. The box, by the bye,
was the great link betwe^i her and James Oraye; its
"magnetic" influence can hardly be overratimated. It
was, in its manifold developments, a sort of under relig-
ion, a supplementary "law and the prophets," teaching
James what to do and what to leave undone.

" You know ) " exclaimed Thomasine, alarmed. " What
do you mean? What do you know?"

" I know what is at the bottom of Kenneth's miseiy,
of all his mental trouble."

Thomasine felt her heart stand stilL " I think you are
mistaken," she faltered.

" No, I am not." Laura sank down beside her sister-

J.,r,l,z<,.f,G00gIf

THE HEALEBS

in-law on the sofa. " I bave known for a long time. But
what ia the use of epeaking of wickedness to one who
replies, ' I am mad ' ! "

" What do 7011 know ? What do you think you know t "
whispered Kenneth's wife.

" I know that he has done something which is a gmA
eriL It will not let hirn rest. Hush, do not start I I do
not flay "

" You accuse my husband I " cried Thomasine, starting
to her feet. " The best I The noblest I "

The other drew her down. " I do not say," continued
Laura soothingly, "that it is a wicked thing, but he
thinks it bo. In any case, it is a great evil. It has
brought about great evil, great sorrow. And the thought
of that will not let him rest."

" You know much," said Thomasine, annoyed.

"I have kept it to myself," replied Laura. "No one
else suspects. All bis half-mad talk about murder proves,
according to the medical theories of our day, that he never
did anything of the kind. As soon as a man's mind be-
comes deranged, the one thing he persistently accuses
himself of is the one thing be never by any chance can
have done. Tb^ are all agreed on that, and my own hus-
band with them. Some day he will learn better, but I
would not have him learn it of — me, through Kenneth."

" You believe Kenneth to be a murderer I " cried
Thomasine, and her knees knocked against each other.

" I believe that he believes himself to he so. I need
know no more."

" If s a good thing you stopped there," said Thomasine
bitterly.

Her words stnng the hot-blooded Sumatran. " I need
not have stopped," said Laura.

"No. You might have probed the poor delirious.

"I have not exchanged a word with Kenneth on the

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THE HEALEKS

enbject. You wrong me. I have simpler and surer
means." And as Tbomasine stared, in troubled wonder-
ment:

" Only ms poor old little planchette, that anyone can
bny in a toyshop for a shilling. And so, I dare say, yon
can bny a divining rod cheap, and then you can go out
and find vater with it I Or perhaps not. If not, the
safest thing is to laugh at those who do. But however
much you laugh you can't deny, unless you won't ex-
amine, that the divining rod, in Bome hands, does find
water. And the little planchette in some hands " — she
dropped her voice unconsciously — " is a thing to be afraid
of. I am afraid of it, in my own." Her accent, the ex-
pression of her face over the concluding sentence, checked
Thomasine's irritated protest. In subdued tones the
Dutchwoman asked: "Do you mean to say it tells you
things you do not know f "

" Shall we ask it ! " replied Laura, in a whisper.

Unwillingly Tbomasine pressed closer against her com-
panion's side. " Ask it what ? " she murmured.

" I asked it," continued Laura in the same breathless
voice, " what was Kenneth's self -flccusation, and it wrote
' ]£urder.' There is nothing wonderful in that, you will
say; he himself told us as much all day; my own fingers
shaped the words. But — but the next question, I did not
dare to put it; I would not put it. Shall we put it to-
gether — now ? "

" WLy not!" replied Tbomasine loftily, yet shaking
from head to foot. " I know the answer. I would know
it in spite of a hundred planchettes."

" The thing is but the paltry means," said Laura ear-
nestly. " In all Bible prophecy the simplest articles of
daily use are chosen. This little running pencil " — she
had taken it from a drawer — " is only just a little run-
ning pencil. Let us take another pencil — shall we! —
and put it into the board." She turned suddenly, while

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THE HEALERS

at work. " Do yon believe," she eaid, " or don't you, that
Swedenborg saw bis bouae burning tbat nigbt vbea at
dinner with bis friends, and wrote down all the facta in
their preaence!"

" I never heard of it," replied Thomaaine.

*' There ia not a. fact better attested in all hlatoi?.
What bigots men of science arel Even Edward. 'I
wasn't there,' he says." She had fixed the pencil. She
motioned Thomaaine to draw near. " Let ns ask it," she
said, " if Kenneth is really reaponaible for the death of
the Jew."

" The Jew ! " scieamed Thomaaine.

" Hush. Yes, I asked it that one qneetion more. I
should have warned you. I am nervoua. Forgive me;
no one told me. I asked whom he accused himself of
killing, and it said, ' The Jew,' so of course I knew it
was Abrahams."

Thomasine pressed her white lips together. With fal-
tering fingers she drew Laura's hands down upon the
board. For a long time they stood there together. "Is
Eennetb," they had written, " responsible for the death
of the Jewt " In the silence of the dimly lighted room
their breath could be heard irregularly rising and falling.
At last the crazy pencil started and ran scrawling acroaa
the paper, " No."

In apite of her own reasoa and conscience, Thomaaine
drew a great gaap of relief. " Of course," she said, " that
waa what we wished it to say. Tbeie is surely no great
wonder in that."

" Did I wish it to say aboat tbe Jew i " relied Laura
fiercely. "Did I know anything to connect the Jew's
name with Kenneth?"

"You — ^might have guessed," suggested Thomasine
timidly.

" Indeed, I am not so clever as all that. But, as I waa

saying, there's none so superstitious as they who won't

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believe." And, gathering the board and pencil to her
injured bosom, the Sumatran swept indignantly from the
room. Not ao quickly but that she had to stand aside for
Maria, who smiled sweetly upon her as she went by.

"I am not sorry," said Maria MacCIachlin. "Your
brother's wife and I were not created to understand each
other. Not that that matters, Thomasine ; there is plenty
of room in the world for a lot of people besides myself."

" Oh, how shall I ever thank you ! How shall I ever
thank youf" said Thomasine. Her voice was broken;
she could hardly get out the words.

" Tut, tutl Are you beginning again? I haven't come
to talk about that."

" To think that you should have done all that for a
stranger 1 "

"Oh, well I" Maria HacOlacblin did not easily look
taken aback. "I don't think that's the prettiest way to
put it. Let us say "

"I mean," interrupted Thomasine hastily, "for one
who could have no manner of claim "

" Quite so. I know exactly what you mean. No claim
of any kind but friendship. In fact, I would have done
the same for — for Hortense."

" I know you would, dear Miss MacCIachlin," assented
Thomaaine heartily, " or for a sheep, for the matter of
that — one of your moutons. Tou are goodness and kind-
ness and charity itself."

" Yes, charity is a good word," said Maria ; " it covers
a multitude of sins." Then she burst out laughing; her
eyes were looking full into Thomasine's. "Oh, I'm ter-
ribly, terribly charitable I " she said, " and you can't think
what a trial it is— especially to one's temper. Now, I'm
off to-morrow morning, and there'll be the devil to pay —
may I just say that oncei — about getting all these Ital-
ians back to their native Valguicciola ; for I suppose
Kenneth Graye will hardly want to carry his grand-
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THE HEALEBS

uncles to Bcotland. Not that they'd go with him. They
wouldn't Btir from their village, unless I brought their
cure along with them. Thank Heaven, he was willing to
come, for a consideration. And do you know what that
was I A new image of the Virgin for his altar, in bright
blue and gold — such an ugly thing! We had to get it
at Milan, coming through. And I, too, who have all my
life warred against Mariolatry, or any olatry I I wonder
what the Eirk Seseion of Bowangowan would say ! " She
laughed, rather shamefacedly. " But, as for the aunt and
uncles, they don't aay much, over and beyond Quando
ritomaremoi which means, I believe. When are we going
back!" She looked interrogatively at Thomaaine.

"I Buppoee so," said the latter.

" Well, THomarello, or however you say, ' theyll go
back,' and the sooner the better. They were dreadfully
upset by the dinner in the dining car. I ought to have
realized that you can't, at that age, suddenly begin tak-
ing an unaccustomed repast in bumps."

"I Buppose not," said Thomasine, smiling feebly.
"What trouble you have had, and are still having! And
what expense t You said something just now, dear Miss
HacClachliu, about paying the — the devil; and, indeed,
before you go, we must speak about this matter of pay-
ing yon. I am afraid Kenneth is hardly able to discuss —
and yet, I don't know. He manages all James's money
matters, I hear, as admirably as ever."

" Stuff and nonsense 1 " burst out the indignant Haria,
" It is you that are not able to discuss ! See what comes
of having to talk one's mother tongue to a foreigner.
Say another word about payments, and there will be the —
oh, dear, dear, I ought to be ashamed of myself I But so
ought you, a thousand times more. And, my dear, while
we are about it, let a rough old Scotchwoman tell you a
fact, and don't you be too angry with her for stating it.
Kenneth Graye hasn't more golden guineas than he can
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THE HEALERS

find B use for, though he has enough not to stand in need
of charity from anyone. But I shouldn't think there was
a man in the United Kingdom more painfully conscien-
tious about keeping his poor nephew's big fortune distinct
from his own little patrimony."

" I lmow> I know," said Thomasine, for no woman likea
to hear another woman volunteer information of this
kind.

" Yes, yoD know, but not as much as I do, because, you
see, I am from his part of the world," peraisted Uario.
"However, let us talk about something else. What do
you think has happened to the Chantilly widow! An-
toine is going to take her off m; hands."

"Antoine!" ,

" The courier I picked np at Uilan to manage this
business. The widow has asked him to marry her, and I
haven't the heart " — Maria's bright eyes twinkled — " to be
eelfiab about it. But, dear me I be says I must buy them
a little hotel — that seems to be my fate I — and in his na<
tire country, too, in Belgium, where eveiy other house is
already an estaminet. All I feel is, it can't be so very
wicked in a place where there are as many as all that
already. What do you sayt"

"Wouldn't be take a temperance hotel I" suggested
Thomasine.

"Ob, dear, nol Fm sore be wouldn't. And, besides,
you know, I have a sort of sneaking idea — I hardly dare to
give it utterance — that those can't be very cheerful places.
Oh, it's BO hard to do good conscientiously I " Miss Kac-
Clachlin sighed heavily. "How often I have wished Z
was a Jesuit I "

"Why?"

" Oh, because then you can do evil that good may come
of itt Oh, what a lot of nice bright evil I could do to my
poor boothayal But, I beg your pardon, I forgot your
mother was one."

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" I don't think my mother is exactly a Jesnit," objected
Thomasme mildly.

"Oh, a Catholic I Isn't it the same thing t Well, I
must leave my poor widow with you, if youll let me,
while Antoine takes the party back to Valguicciola. I
start for Paris to-monow with Hort^sse. Hortense will
mies the widow."

"I thought she hated her, and quarreled with her all
day I" exclaimed Thomasine.

"Yes, that is why she will miss ber," replied Itaria
grimly.

But such computations were entirely outside Thom-
asine's nature. She fancied Maria must be wrong.

" I winder whether your Bister-in-law would piind keep-
ing my widow," said Maria pensively. " I ought to have
asked hei, but she fiew by me in such a hurry. I dare
say she prefers to avoid me. Likings are almost always
mutuah"

" No, no, I am sure she will be delighted. Besides, who
of us could refuse you nnythingt I will go and find her."
Thomasine moved to the door.

"I really can't take the widow back with me," said
Maria. " Something might occur to upset her plans."

Laura, however, had betaken herself to her own small
room, and thither no one ever followed her but hei hus-
band. He found her there, later on, her face blotted
with the traces of one of her rare, passionate bursts of
tears.

"Laura! Dearest t What is this?"

"Oh, nothing I" she said. "Nothing at alL"

"Nothing! Tou expect me to believe that? And
what am I to answer) 'Of course, madam; excuse me
for disturbing you 1 ' And to come away ! "

She hesitated for a moment. Then she broke into
fresh tears. " Ah, no, Edward! It is not nothing. I am
in very great trouble. Some months ago, I already told
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you, my mother no longer speaks to me. Ever since the
— the affair of the money she no longer speaks. She
used to come to me daily in my — my trances; it was the
happiness of my life; she wonld speak to me sweet things,
endearing things. They wonld have meant nothing to
you; you have known love all your life; to me they
meant, oh, so much I And when I gave you my mon^
and we married, it stopped. See, the pencil — it writes
only angry scribblings. I have asked her whether she
was angiy with me for marrying. She does not answer.
I have never dared to tell you all this, but to-night I am
eo wretched I can no longer keep it back."

"My dear child I my dear Laura! what folly is this!"

"Oh, do not call it folly, my husband! If you knew
what it meant to mel When I was lonely and wretched,
at Patembang, without a mother, and when my sister
died, and all that dreary year at Brussels, when I was
waiting, oh — there was always my sleep — my — my — call
it what you will, to look forward to. It was the daily
Joy of my life. I know she didn't tell me anything im-
portant, no deep secrets, uo great prophecies. But that
was because she was alive. By that I knew she was alive.
I know of other girls whose mothers have told them won-
derful mysteries of other worlds, but they had gone there
to team them. And now she is only silent, only silent.
When I ask her if she is alive, she is silent. When I
ask her if she is angry with me, she is silent, too."
Laura's tears flowed abundantly.

"Dear, dear creature, stop weeping," pleaded Edward.
He put his arm round his wife's neck. It was a beautiful
neck.

The passionate southerner leaned against him, with
cheeks of loveliest carmine under the black masses of her
hair. " Oh, why did you come in ! " she sobbed, " and
surprise mef In half an hour I would have been myself
again. It isn't fair! " Her tone was so sincere that she
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hurt him, and with her abnormal aensitiveness ehe at once
felt she had done this. The consciouaneaa drove her to
complete confeaeion. " Fresh misfortune ia coming upon
me," she said shudderingl;. "It Is coming nearer and
nearer. Ah, no, beloved I " she put up her hand, " if I am
certain of anTthii^ in m; life, besides your love, it is of
my eo-called second sight — my horrible, horrible second
si^t I Would to Qod I did not possess it t " She stopped
suddenly, and half-lifting herself on one elbow looked
him in the eyes. " Edward, tell me, bef oie God, you who
have seen all the SalpStridre could show you, you know
this thing exists as well as If Can you deny it? "

" I have not denied it, child, but it is so uncertain, so
entirely beyond scientific control. Kine-tenths of it is
delusion."

"The other tenth suffices. Edward, a woman is com-
ing here; she is coming soon; she will bring us mis-
fortune I "

"My dear girl "

"Well, this is prophecy. There is nothing more diffi-
cult to prove than prophecy. I take my chance. She
has come over-sea. I have seen her repeatedly, standing
on deck. I have seen her in my trance only, never else,
never in m; dreams. I never see anything in my night
dreams. She wears an Indian shawl, of many colors, a
Cashmere shawl, and a green bonnet. I have never seen
her face. I have tried again and again, but she will not
let me see her face."

"Laura, if you give way like this, I shall take you to
Charcot."

She clung to him. " She is coming nearer and nearer.
She is no longer on the boat. And a horrible man is
with her. His face I can see quite plain."

"Perhaps TJncle Frank will bring her," said Edward,

trying to joke. "I have Just heard from him that the

government has stopped him at Suez and ordered him

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> come back for further inatructioDS. Just like the

" "iiy man is not a bit like Uncle Frank."

" But Uncle Frank may haye sailed with your lady."

"Edward," ahe said very graTely, "who warned your
father not to go ekatiugt"

" That was a fluke," he answered quickly, " a very ex-
plainable fluke."

" Who told you what Jamee Qraye felt 1 "

" Oh, that was direct communication — a recognised and
scientifically controllable phenomenon."

" What long words you use I And yet only to-night
my planchette yonder — " She stopped dead.

" Surely, Laura, it is easily demonstrable that the pen-
cil onl? writes your own thoughts."

" Sometimes I wonder," said Laura, musing, " that you
ever devoted yourself to the study of the mind at all,"

" I have you to thank for that Laura, and I thank
you ereiy day of my life. We are groping forward to
magnificent discoveries in mysteries of which the earliest
Egyptians, to our lasting humiliation, seem to have
kno^vn much more than we."

" And meanwhile you deny the possibility of telepathic
perception ! "

"I do not say that, dear. I cannot say that.
Only "

" And my Chinaman 1 "

" Well, I wasn't there," said Dr. Lisee.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

CHAPTEK XXXTTI

Next moniing Thomasme and Edward accompanied
Maria and her Italians to the etation. The party was to
separate at Cologne.

" I have given up my idea of lunatics at Rowangowan,"
said UisB MacClachlin to Thomosine; "although, really,
yon know, I am in danger of thinking" — she cast a aly
glance in the direction of Edward — " that I was bom to
be a mad doctor. But we don't want any mad people
about there. We want you and your husband to come
and live at Invergraye. There is a lot of work to be done
there, and we want you to do it."

"What sort of workt" asked Thomasine.

" You will see fast enough when you get there."

" But the estate is not Kenneth's. As you were saying
last night, he has no money."

" Humph I " replied Haiia. " You mustn't remember
all the things I say. Well, no, he hasn't. That's the
bother. And he piles up James's in the bank. I asked
him once. * Tou can be just, out of another man's purse,'
he says, ' and you may even be generous ; but not chari-
table.' I suppose he's right. Of course he's right. Well,
I may be charitable, if you call it charitable to give away
what you don't want. Rowangowan is on the seacoast,
you know, nine miles from Invergraye. I'm going to
turn the big empty house into a Ladies' Convalescent
Home; that's nothing, but I want to build rest houses
for sick operatives round the comer of the bay. I can't
do that without male assistance; you must make youi
husband come and help me. Oh, and a ' country change '
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for horeeal I've set my heart on that, and I'm going to
call it 'The Counti^r Cliange.' Don't 70U think that's
a nice, quaint name ! "

" Ver7," said Thomasine.

" But I can't give up my booshays and my muttons. I
thought I Bhould be glad to, for it*B uphill work, but I
find I should misB them dreadfully. I can divide my
time between Paris and Aberdeenshire. I like traveling;
it was a — pleasure to go to Bergamo; it was really, be-
lieve me! But you and your husband vMiet absolutely
settle up yonder, or the whole plan can't come off."

Thomasine looked away. She could not damp the
brisk Scotchwoman's triumphant ardor by stating the
truth.

"He'll come all right now; you see if be doesn't," said
Maria, as if reading her thoughts. "Dear me, that old
woman will certainly get ecrasee before she reaches her
native hills. And what he ought really to take up is
work among boys; Fve always said so — among rough
boys. Did you ever see ^im with Jamee when James was
in a bad temper?"

"Tes," said Thomasine.

" Well, no wonder you fell in love with him. I say so,
and I'm old enough to be his mother; at least, if we'd
lived in the East. Well, no, not quite. In fact, I'm not
t«n years older than he is. But that's neither here nor
there. You're younger. — Oh, is that the train coming
in! WeU, good-by, Thomasine, and if anything weie
ever to happen to James — ^here, now I've said it — ^what
my friend ought to start is an agricultural colony at In-
vergraye — there's plenty of land he doesn't want — ^for
vagabond and destitute boys. Come, Hortense; in an-
other twenty-four hours you shall see your dear Paris
again."

"Peut-on tJttire aitlevrsf" said the Frenchwoman.
" On existe."

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" Don't talk Fiench to me," cried Uaria, laughing. " I
pay yon for yonr broken Englifih."

" And my argot," replied Hortense. " Ah, Paris I Povr
h rttlel Chouettel"

The train, with ite tmoBnal load, steamed away. At the
last moment a little confusion was occasioned by the
cure's enoTmoDB boat of a hat falling off his head from
the window; but Edward sent it epinning forward like a
Japanese kite, end it easily caught up, and was caught
by the occupants of the next carriage.

"Nothing will happen to James," said Tbomasine to
herself, as she drove back by her brother's side. God
forbid it should, in Ifiss MacClachlin's sense of the word.
The boy's health had improved rapidly. A little ungainly
in his movements, he was yet able now to move about
with ease. He even played a sort of unscientific football
with Edward; he was not equal to the greater intricacies
of cricket. His favorite pastime, however, was rowing;
but since the affair of the coachman's child be would
allow DO one into his boat, nor would he even approach
the water-side with a companion. " I might want to
throw them in again," he said. He had a horror of his
uncompiehended, unremembered wrongdoing; and Ed-
ward naturally disliked his being much alone, a lad with
that epileptical tendency toward unreasoned crime. "I
don't mind if you do throw me in, Sir James," said
Barton; "I can swim like a fish." This was not strictly
correct, for fishes are bom. swimming, and you don't
leain to do as well as the? when you go secretly and take
second-rate lessons after forty. Still, Barton could
doubtless have floundered out of a Dutch canaL He fol-
lowed his charge over long milea of meadow and forest,
and helped to carry home baskets of " the most outlandish
weeds." "You may say what you like about wild flow-
ers," declares Barton, " but I say they stink. Give me a
blooming — ^I'm sure I bi* your pardon, madam — rose."
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James agreed with Barton about rosea. Bat lie would
have thought it stupid of the mas — ^had be not huown
that he, James, was stupider than anybody — to Bununarize
all nncultiTated nature aa "a tree," "a flower," and "a
bird." "But, Barton, it ien't a chaffinch; it's a bull-
finch — ^harkl" "I didn't say it was a diaffinch. Sir
James; I said as it was a bird." Jamee, wondering, crept
away among his rosee. Yea, certainly; they were bis fa-
Torites aUo. He had a garden of them for himeelf at
Bardwyk, with trellia work at the end, and an arbor, and
even a little botbonee that Edward bad given him on
his birthday. He knew the names of any number. Once
mentioned, he seemed never to forget them. There were
hundreds, but he could never be taught to count those on
one tree. He Baid : " One and one and one," like other
naturals in South Sea Islands. Nor could he ever be
made to grasp the signifioanoe of money, or of buying
anything. Ever since his first experience with the tramp,
he paid in rosee, when he had them, one for a golden
sovereign, perhaps, and fifty for a kindness, like a child
keeping shop. Of any effort other than outdoor he soon
wearied, but, excepting the muscular strength of his arms,
his physical health was not robust. His cheat was peaked;
the heart and Innga had developed badly; these things, of
courae, nature could no longer alter. Edward got the boy
a turning lathe for bad weather, and Laura read to him.
He rarely listened, incapable of grasping the written pre-
aentment of anything. " Oh, a butterfly I " he would ciy
suddenly in the middle of the stoiy of the " Children in
the Tower," or even of the " Babes in the Wood."

" He is better and stronger than ever, I think," said
Thomasine, driving through the flat meadow land with
her brother.

"Who is!" asked Edward, for he thought she must be
speaking of her husband, and wondered aomewhat.

" James."

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" Oh, yes, James is! In fact, be is quite my gnccees. I
wasn't so fortunate," he smiled, " with Kenneth."

"Ton couldn't help that. Besides, your information
from Bergamo bore out all that Zenneth said.

"Uiee MacClaohlin would say I should have verified
my evidence. And that could only have been done by
going to the countiy. But, as a matter of fact, I should
never have adopted ber method at all. I admit that. It
is an entirely new departure in treatment to reason with
anyone laboring under a ' fiied idea,' and to prove to bim,
l^ ocular demonstration, that bis facts are wrong. I en-
tirely agree with iUiss UacClacblin that her only chance
of success lay in the ocular demonstration. Even then
it was the merest chance. But I am ungenerous to say
that, now it has succeeded. I admit that the experiment
is marvelously interesting to me; it opens up an entirely
new field of possibilities. But they are only possibilities,
without any scientific basis. However, all treatment of
the mentally deranged has been empiric guesswork up till
now. We are on the threehold of a new era. Now, Ken-
neth's case is a purely mental, you might almost say
moral, one. There isn't any organic disorder — thank
Heaven — hardly even functional, in the stricter sense.
You know these things as well as I do, Thomasine;
haven't you studied them with me ) "

" They look so different," she murmured, " in those we
love." She gazed out at the placid cattle languidly
munching their food.

" You can't take Kenneth's as a strictly pathological
case; but in all tbe gradations to which his belongs
Charcot's is the new — how shall I say? — gospel. But it
is a scientific gospel. Charcot, and Bembeim, and Erafft-
Ebing are going to found, in our century, a new school,
a first school for tbe treatment of functional cerebral dis-
order. Of course my father is right that where there is
actual disease it is doubtless a question of microbes, but

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

of that, aa yet, we know absolutely nothing, the whole
microbe business being barely begun."

"Ton talk as if you had done nothing," sud Thorn-
asine.

"Oh, my work has been chiefly aurgieall And I, too,
am only just beginning. Tes, lommie, they must come
round to me in time, and then " — his cheek glowed —
"there will be no more idiocy."

" You mean that if James Oraye had been operated on
in infancy "

" We should have brought him on a great deal farther
than we can ever bring him now."

" And yet you have brought him so far! Sut there will
always be dementia senilis."

" There will always be dementia senilis, and there will
always be death. Yet I don't know — about the dementia
— when our father's theory of the Semicolon comes true.
It is far more scientifically plausible than Brown-8S-
quard's elixir, yet Brown- Sequard's elixir is receiving, at
this moment, the sympathetic attention of the whole
medical world."

" The dear father 1 " said Thomasine. " The Semicolon,
the great life principle, the destroyer of all the destructive
bacteria that make for deterioration and old age! Why,
if only it could be introduced properly into the system
nobody would die I"

"We haven't got as far as that yet," replied Edward.
"And, besides, we should always kill each other."

" Oh, why doesn't father publish the whole thing at

" Because he must first kill a human being to prove it."
" I know, I know. At least, I mean I have always half
known, half understood. But there must be some other
way."

" There is no other way. And father knows that, what-
ever he may try to make himself believe. The whole
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theory is Tahielen until the semm faai been tried on a
human being ; and that human being, the etiength not
;«t having been properljr tested, would almost certainly
die."

"Almost certainly I"

"I think one might say 'certainly.'"

" I wonder," said Thomasine, in an awe-Btruck whisper,
" be has nerer tried it upon himself. I suppose he
couldn't. Thank God!"

Edward faltered a moment. "No, he couldn't," he
said. "Why, there the dear old fellow is! And mother
also! Tbey must have come to have a look at the
Italians 1 "

The baron and the baroness stood on the house steps.
" We have come to find out, ourselves, about Keimeth,"
said the baron. " And where," asked the baroness, " is the
dear old Italian euret"

Thomasine, as she went up to her husband, said to
herself, between her set teeth: "If this stranger woman
did all that to help him, shall I not do the rest? God
helping me, I wilL"

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXXIV

" I AH eon7 I had no opportunity for meeting and
thanking the lady," said the ever-courteoua baron.

No one enlightened him, but all wondered what would
have happened had Maria MacClachlin found herself face
to face with the greatest "physiologist" of the century,
after Pasteur. As it was, she left a quantity of leaflets
scattered about the house in odd places. The professor
found several on his bedroom table and in the soiled-
linen basket — the " Cry of the Cow," and the far more
pathetic " Appeal of the Babbit from Man to Uan'a
God." After reading the latter the professor stood for
a long time with one lean finger to his nose. " Yes," he
said at last, " yes, my dear, yes. I suppose we must all
appeal from each other's cruelty to the Judge who — ^who
made life so."

But the baroness sat lamraiting that she had missed all
those interesting types of her new faith. " I feel drawn
to them on that account," she said; "I can't tell why.
The dear, pious, innocent souls!" She was greatly
grieved to hear that Antoine, being a Catholic, was going
to marry a Protestant, "It was very, very wrong of
him," she said, and she eagerly set about converting the
Chantilly widow. Antoine was an avowed atheist, the
sindaco a freethinker, the notary a Yoltairean. The
widow wrote to Antoine whether he would like her to
change, but she begged him to " consider her feelings."
He replied, in his objectionable manner, that her feelings
night be " blowed," and her religion as well. It is diffi-
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cult to Bee bow it could be done. And he asked, what
la vieUle, meaning Maria, bad said, before abe left, about
tbe botel. Tbe widow promptly returned the little books
about the immoralitj of Luther aud the seven lean Mne,
which prove there are seven sacraments, not two, etc.) to
the baroness; that was quite right of her, but she need
not have returned tbem with a jerk. " Toujours iglite
d'Angleterre," she said. The baroness sighed heavily; she
had no idea what the wicked words meant.

The old lady therefore now concentrated her ministra-
tions on Kenneth, "who needed them," she said; which
was true. The professor turned to 8ir James. Invariably
considerate, eepecially to women, Kenneth would listen
for long hours without replying much. He went bis own
way, as a rule, getting out of everybody else's, his eyes
downcast, or uplifted with an inward look. Constantly
he would do a kindness, endeavor to make himself pleas-
ant, to tear himself loose from his reflections, but soon
he would sink back with a sigh. It was manifest that
the blackness of his thoughts shut out from him the
light of the world around him. The weight of his own
soul was bearing him down. " You are too good to me,"
he burst out once to his all-tender spouse; "I can't bear
your goodness," and he sunk his face on his hands. At
such moments she could do nothing but leave him.
Sleeplessness came upon him, that most horrible of all
the Erinyee. She heard him standing by the window, in
the middle of the night. "Innocent blood is on my
hands," he was saying; "I can see it in the daA." She
called him gently. "Go to sleep, dear," he said; "I'm
not mad, only guilty. Go to sleep."

Once he asked her suddenly, as they were playing
chess : " This man — do you think he bad a wife and
children? Oh, what does it matter) If it were not for
the wrong I did bim bis soul would be alive to-day."
Yet be won the game. Perhaps because he played so
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well — as he did — or because Thomaaine played badly — as
well she might. She most set herself to get at the whole
truth about this Abrahams, without betraying her hus-
band to the others. It wolild not be an easy task. She
had no idea how to begin. He painfully guarded his
secret. Since his partial recovery he never even alluded
to the vague setf-accuaation which bad constantly been
on his lips at first. Only to Thomaaine he spoke of it.
"For your sake," he said, "no one must ever know. I
conjure you, do not say a word of it to your brother.
Let him think, let them all think, it was mere mad talk.
Thank God, you say I never mentioned a name." When-
ever he saw Edward he would laugh and joke. And that,
perhaps, was saddest of all. "I can't make him out,"
said Edward frankly. "His mind no longer seems de-
ranged, and yet you might call Mm melancholy mad. He
is manifestly a case for suggestive treatment. I entreat
you once more to let me try that, Thomaaine ! "

"Oh, no, no, nol" cried Thomaaine. She was so
agitated that her brother desisted — till next time.

When the baroness heard of suggestive treatment she
now crossed herself. Father Wins, with whom she held
long conferences, commended her idea of getting Kenneth
to wear a chaim. " His long fits of depression," said the
baroness, "are really too terrible to see." Her heart
yearned over her afflicted son-in-law. Always more in-
terested in men's minds than in women's, she could not
rest till he first of all — for she despaired of Edward —
should be as happy as she was. "Oh, I am bo happy
now, so happy I " she would repeat to her husband. " My
whole heart and soul were always Catholic. If I had
been a man I ahould have loved to be pope I "

" And I, then, my dear^ " queried the poor professor.

" Well, I shall never be a man," said the lady shortly.

She did a very beautiful thing; for with intense self-

eaoiifice she loosed her own especial relic from her hus-

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band's neck — ber relio, on which -she counted for their
" d^ng together," her supreme earthly desire. " Dearest,"
she said tenderly, "he has mora need of it than yonl
Shall WB part from it, dearest^ for his aaket "

The professor kissed her upon the forehead. So the
little siiq^eim; Virgin was sewn into Kenneth's coat. His
clothes were made on a different plan from the prof essor'a.
He discovered it that same day. An arrangement was
made whereby it could be secreted without falsifying the
line.

"It will keep yon, at any rate; it will pieaerre you
from evil spirits," said the baroness.

IiBura looked up from James's herbarium; be needed
her neat fingers for that work. But she said nothing,
though she knew the " evil spirits " were ber own revered
" cosmic energies." Laura had learned much wisdom and
much tolerance since those first days with the baroness
at Leaden.

"Uy daughter-in-law is a Buddhist," confessed the
baronesB, with tears, to Pastor Winx

"A Buddhist," said the good father; "dear me, that
is very dreadful 1 They are the people — are they not J —
who worship a cow."

While Laura was steadying her fingers for the her-
barium, the profesaor came into the room. "Uncle
Francis writfie," he said, "from Genoa, that he will be
with us in a couple of days." The baroness no longer
talked of " Imphi-Boshek," for her confessor had told her
it was uncharitable. But he remained in the poem,
where he ended his days as a ^prechristian anchorite.
Through the final canto his every utterance began : " In
the days when I was a fool — in my own wisdom." " He
adds," continued the professor, " I am bringing with me
a surprise for Laura. Something very strange is going
to happen to Laura very soon."

"Nothing else? Nothing more then thatf" exclaimed
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:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

the baronese. "Oh, haw like — Mar;, JoBephl Laura
has fainted I "

" No," said Laara, righting herself. " What made 70a
think BO?"

She had dropped a great eplaah of gum over the deli-
cate tissue paper. Sir James gave a cry of rage. " It
is nothing, James, nothing; I will put it right." But
James, who was accustomed to find Mammie Laura only
" angel," started up, muttering angry gibberish, and ran
away into the woods.

"I am sorry I startled you so. Of course, it is only
my brother's fun," said the scared professor.

" Of course, only his fun," echoed Laura, agitatedly
occupied with the herbarium, and only making matters
much worse.

Kenneth lifted his eyes. " What a jolly thing is funi "
he said. "You can't have too much of it."

" My brother is always full of life," said the professor.

"Tm very glad he's coming," said Graye.

But when the colonel arrived, he proved very far from
lively. " I am a soldier, not a sailor," he complained, " by
no means. And it's cruelly hard to fetch a man back
who's inst got as far as Suez. And whyt All a ques-
tion of buttons — how many buttons should go to a ser-
geant major! Poohl"

" Tes, that's how they waste the nation's money," said

"How they waste! — how they waste the nation's en-
ei^es 1 " cried the colonel. " The nation's money ia
nothing, sir; 'tis the nation's flesh and bones, like me."
Bat immediately his face lighted up again. "Flesh for
freaks," he said, " and bonee for buttons I Well, it can't
be helped. I see this morning's paper declares that other
coimtries also — thank Heaven! England, for i
are going to the dogs."

" I am sorry to hear it," said the professor.
359

c.bvGoogIc

THE HBALEKS

"Then you are wrong, Thomas; but you were always
wrong about politics. When you were in Parliament I
never could agree with a word you aaid."

"I was much in the eame position," replied the pro-
fessor mildly, "except when I talked about hygiene, and
everybody walked out."

"Come with me, TJncIe Francis. I want to speak to
you," said Laura, at the colonel's elbow, in an agitated
voice. He followed her. "What is this going to
happen to me ) " she said, turning to bim. " Who ia
coming?"

He closed his eyes and pursed up his grinning lips.
"tSy dear Laura, how curious you ladies are!"

"Answer me, please! Who is coming!"

He opened one eye and winked. " I do not think I
mentioned anyone coming. How astute of you I What
made you guess?"

" Answer me. Tell me. It ia no joke to me."

"1^0 joke, certainly; but a very delightful and pleas-
ing surprise."

She clenched her hands. " What surprise ) "

He laughed. "A surprise loses rather by being told
about, doesn't it? O Laura, Laura I 'When wicked, wily

She came close to him. "You have no nerves," she
said.

"No, indeed! I, a king's soldier! 'Stem, stubborn,
strong as stone they stand ' "

"Oh, my God I" said Laura.

He started. "Uy dear Laura, what vehemence I I
have passed my word. A few moments' patience, I b^
of you. It is only an agreeable little joke."

" Agreeable I "

"If I hadn't passed my word not to betray her," he

continued, distressed; "you know how I hat« refusing

anybody anything. And especially you, my dear." He

360

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THE HEALEES

pulled out his watch. " She ought to hare been here b;
thu time. She allowed me an hour's start from the
station."

"She! shet" repeated Laura passionatel?. There was
a loud peal at the front door. " Ahl " Laura blenched
to the lipe.

Loud Toicea were heard in the paaeage; a aort of
scuffle ensued; the door of the room was flung riolentlj
open. A shrill whistle rang into the room. " She is
here I I saw her through the window I " cried the
whistler, in tones that were almost a shriek.

A big woman stood on the threshold, with a mountain
of fair hair, grizzled and frizzled, and voluminons arms
outstretched. She had a wild and roving eye. "If I'm
not to have free entrance to my own child!" shouted
the apparition, " then I should like to know what I
came to — Go away. Colonel Liasel"

" Certainly," replied Francis, " if you will let me — "
He circled apologetically rouud the big figure.

"So this is — Lord V mercy, the child is ill)"

Laura had stepped back; she was leaning against a
cabinet, her great eyes staring — staring not so much at
the woman as at the woman's bonnet and shawl.

" Hold up 1 " said the Tisitor. " Well, I admit it is a
bit sudden. But it's all right, Laura. I'm your mother,
come all the way from — where was I last? — to see and
say how d'ye do. Whoop!" Again that shrill whistle.

The colonel had slipped out. Laura spoke not a word.
" Come here, child," exclaimed the new arrival, whose
eveiy tone was a cry, " let's ait down on this Bofa
together I Ifow the man's gone, you can give way to
your feelings. There I " She drew her shrinking compan-
ion down beside her and enveloped her in the folds of
the b^ shawl. "There I You might kiss me a little
more energetically — in fact, that's putting it very mildly,
for you harai't kissed me at all."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

" It is so sudden," said Lama dull?, " and I don't nn-
dentand."

** Of course not. That'a half the Joke."

"But my mother had been dead for yeais."

"That's the other half I And you never beliered it,
minzl Look me in the face and aay if you ever be-
lieved itl"

" Hy father did " said Laura markedly.

But the other waa in no way abashed. " I intended him
to," she replied coolly. " It coat money and pains enough
to get the thing done, even iu Texas. Well, be could
forget me, if he liked, and many again. Whoop I"

"He did not," said Laura.

"I know he didn't. Had enough, I suppose," ahe
laugjied. " Well, I did my best for him. / haven't mar-
ried again. And the only man I ever loved is dead."

IfSura did not ask vho that man was.

" I am going to many now, however, but we haven't
come to that yet. Well, Laura, you mi^t give me an-
other kiBS, or a bug, or eometbing. What do daughters
usually give to mothers who come back from the grave? "

"I don't know," said Laura lamely.

"Unnatural child I Well, I've been to, and come back
from, a good many places since I last saw you, that highl
but they were all above the ground. And I was last
coming back from India, to— to have a talk with you,
when, by one of those coincidenoea that always occur, I.
met your Uncle Francis Liase on the boat."

"Tou have not come here," asked Laura faintly, "to
t«ll me that you are going to marry Colonel Lissel "

The visitor laughed like a steam whistl& "No, in-
deed 1 He is far too grand for me. And how he would
bote me with his Pee-Po-Fotsl"

To this Laura made no answer.

"But he told me about you on the boat, a little. He's
not communicative to strangers, is your uncle. Talks a

bv Google

THE HEALERS

lot, but little to the point — about the country going to
the dogs, and things no rational creature can care about.
However, jou've made a great match; I knew that. A
baroness you are — ehj By goshl"

" No, I am not a baroness," replied Laura pettishly.

''Huhl"

" Hj husband's father is a baron."

" Well, that doesn't look like sense. Howerer, it's all
one to me. I ahall be grand enough in my own way.

To this statement again Laura could find no fitting
answer.

Mrs. Baleyne had risen and vas parading, with shawl
outstretched, about the room. At times she emitted
ahrill whistles, and courteaied to the air.

"Tou're a fine lady, at any rate," she said, "and a
rich one. And you'll be pleased to aee me blossoming out
as a ditto. N'o more Sumatra for you and me, Laura.
And BO, as we may as well talk business at once, before
your relations come in, how about that money?"

"The — the money," faltered Laura.

" Yes. You're a fine-looking girl, Laura, and I'm proud
of you, biit you're not overafiectionate to your mother,
that's yearning over you with all a mother's heart. You
— you might aay something nice about me, Laura; I've
worn well for forty-five. And such a full life as I've
had, too — plenty of movement. And you might get up
some show of interest in the man who's going to be
your step-papa."

" Who is it ! " murmured Laura, her eyes full of the
face she had seen so ceaselessly of late.

"His name ia Bitterbol. He isn't a fine gentleman —
a little freeh and breezy, but he's got it in him. And
he's going to make me as rich as Yan Houten's cocoa.
I promised him I'd speak to you about the money at
once. Have you got it anywhere hanc^ — ha I "

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

TEE HEALERS

"The mon^ U spent," said Laura.

The whistle the newcomer emitted was louder than any
that had gone before.

" You tell him that when he comes here pTesently," she
Baid. And then suddenl;, to Laura's horror, the great
flaring creature seemed to double up and dwindle, like a
collapeible tent, and settle down into a little bundle that
disappeared behind a b^ chintz sofa. Over the tall back
a scared face looked out. " Tou tell him that when he
comes!" said a squeaky voice. "Whoop!"

"He isn't coming here I " cried Laura.

"Coming here! Of course he's coming here. To get
acquainted with the family. He's waiting in the gar-
dens till I call."

" Go to him I " exclaimed Laura in the greatest agita-
tion. "Say it's spent!"

The head dived behind the sofa. "Whoop I" it said
from somewhere underneath. " Uot 1 1 You must man-
age that, my dear. Why, he's counting on the money to
make me richer than Gracious I" — "Crcesus" was what
the lady meant. " You had no business to spend it," she
piped, still hiding. "It was my money. You must get
it back."

" I can't get it back. I bought this house with most of
it. It was mine to do what I liked with, when you died."

The big face rose solemnly over the bar of flowered
dtints and stayed there. " You are not, then, one of us! "
said the lips — ^low, comparatively.

"Wha— what do you meant" asked the troubling
Laura.

"You know what I mean. Tou didn't believe I was
dead, though I wished your father to. I knew you
needn't, unless you chose. You could find out, if you
desired to know the truth. Your father laughed at all I
held most sacred; that was one of the reasons why I
couldn't endure to remain with him. But you, and your

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

sister that's dead, I made yon of as from your babyhood.
Tou were initiated. You could speak to me and. with me,
wherever I was— €h?"

"Wh — what do you mean I" repeated Laura, lying
staring, half -swooning, on her couch.

" You know what I mean " — the odd, big face grew por-
tentously solemn; the eyes rolled wildly. "Could you
Tiear me speaking to you — s^ — or could you not? "

"Yes," gasped Laura. "I could hear you speaking.
And the things you said were always good and kind.
And you told me I might use the money for my own
happiness."

" Those were lying voices I " The big woman rose and
leaned across the sofa back, with outstretched arm.
"And you might have learned, at any time, that they
were lying. Where's your ringt"

Laura steadied herself on her couch. " I have no ring,"
she said.

"Your ring I Child of evil, in the name of the In-
effable, your ring I"

" I have only this," said Laura, and her fingers closed
on Edward's plain gold circlet.

" Pshaw I When I left the house " — the woman behind
the sofa spoke as if such an action were not unusual — " I
placed upon your childish finger, as you lay asleep, a
ring, and I whispered in your ear in sacred words the
dead must hear, that you apeak to me, when in doubt of
lying voices, with that ring upon the finger next the pen,"

" I know nothing of this," stammered Laura. " Often
I have hesitated, have doubted, have wanted to get nearer
you. And for many months you have not replied to me
at alL"

" You have been led astray," said her mother solemnly,
"by lying voices. It is your father's doing. He must
have drawn the ring from your finger. Probably he

threw it away. It was like him, the "

86S

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

"Sladain," cried Laura, springing to ber feet, "my
father "

"The child of earth. He was that. And I conld not
live with him. There is no worse term of r^roacb from
a qiirit eouh / am a spirit bouI, aa ;ou might have been,
bnt for your father I But you couldn't get away, all the
same, from the mystic words I spoke in your ear. With-
out the ring the? have led you wrong 1 Oh, terrible
powers of the Unseen 1 Your father has turned my
blessing Into a curse 1 "

"Do not — do not speak like this I" cried Laura. She
hid lier face in her hands.

"See here!" — the woman tore off her glove— "flie
Uahatma's ring I And you had ita complement. The
holiest thing, perhaps, in all the Indies! Do not
question how I came by it. Together they annulled
time and space I And now, where is the money t
Wheiel"

"Is Mr. Bitter-^ spirit-soul?" asked Laura timidly.

At the mention of this gentleman his future bride
collapsed.

" He is nearer Theosophy than any other religion," she
aaid, " and that is a great thing nowadays,"

"But what does he want all the money forf " pleaded
Laura.

" He shall tell you himaelf, for by the great god Bnddh
— whoop I — here he is I "

And, indeed, Mr. Bitterbol entered, as they were speak-
ing, with Thomasine.

" I met this gentleman in the garden," said the latter.
" He was coming to see you."

"Make us known 1" proclaimed the lady behind the
sofa, cautiously peering round it, and then, more cau-
tiously, coming out.

" Oh, you can't have the money I " cried Laura, letting
everything go, in her horror and alarm.

b, Google

THE HEALERS

Mr. Bittnbol, BB ve know, vae a bloff, eallorlike man,
but his face could wear veiy commercial expresaioiu.

" You're abrupt, ma'am," he said. " I like abmptneaa.
Let me be abrupt, too. Oau't have the moueyi We
must 1 "

Thomaaice looked doubtfully from oue to the other.
" Better staj'," remarked Laura's mother, sitting down on
an absurdly low stool at the farther end of the room.

"Yes, hj ail means, let the lady stay," assented Mr.
BittarboL " I've a bone to pick with this family, I have.
A year ago my fortune was as good as made, when the
old gentleman here cute up crusty, and ' No, I won't,' aays
he. It wouldn't hare cost him more than a doxen lines
of writing, and we'd all have be^i a-wallering in wealth
to^iay. I come to Leyden a-purpose. 'No, I won't,'
aays he. Not that it really wouU have come oS, at the
moment, for the man that was to supply the needy, he
draws back, a couple of weeks later, and says he can't.
But the old professor didn't know naught of tliat. And
now we start afresh with the money, and we're going to
have it this time, you bet."

" I have used it," says Laura, in a toneless voice.

" Used it, have you, yomig lady I Well, youll have to
find it again; for it wasn't yours to use, but that lady'a
— my intended's."

A smothered exclamation from Thomasine.

"And you're not dead, like t'other one. I shouldn't
have let him off, for I had his engagement, but there, be
was dead, killed himself, and bis affairs gone smaah, ao
there waa no more to be said. ' Where there's nothing,
the king loses bis rights,' says the proverb. So youll
have to kill yourself or find the money, my fine lady; and
even the killing'll be no good unless you die inaolvent."

" Hendricus t " gasped Mevrouw Bsleyne.

" You're a mother, dear. You let me manage this bnai-
ness. We want the money within a couple of days, at

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEES

this address " — he pnt down a scrap of paper on the
nearest table — "our banker's. We're in a hurry. You
say it, my dear."

"Yes, yee," acquiesced Laura's mother hastily; "I've
been s^ing it all the time."

" Excuse me," put in Tbom^ne, " there is one thing
I do not understand. You st^ my father refused to help
you in some plan "

"Oocos — " began Bitterbol, but he suddenly checked
himself, in a cough. "We'll work it without him," he
said. " We've got another man, nearly as good."

"But the plan wouldn't have succeeded ^nyhow, for
the man who waa to supply the money said he couldn't,
and the man had committed suicide."

Mr. Bitterbol laughed. " You're a sharp 'un ! " he said.
" Not that I see what it matters to you. But the Jew that
was to provide the money, whom I never saw, went bank-
rupt and killed himself, so the go-between, my banker
there" — a nod at the table — "said. Here the matter
ends — d'ye twig, mum ) Dang it 1 " — a sudden burst of
bis bluff, sailor mannei^-" what's that to yout If you
think I'm lying, you can go and ask him, and welcome.
And this noble family here, if report speaks true, waa
mixed up with the old Jew's bankruptcy and suicide."

By this time he was very hot and angry. He marched
to the door. " Come away, my love," he said. " In a
couple of days, if you please, we shall hear from this lady,
or her husband, at our banker's."

Uevrouw Baleyne stood still in front of her daughter.
" O Laura I" she said, with the attitude and tone of a
priestess. "Laura! Laura I It all comes' of the lose of
the Mahatma ring I "

When they were gone, Laura fell into Thomasine'a
arms. "It means ruinl" she cried wildly. "I knew it
was coming I Thomasine, the horrible face I "

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXXV

Edwakp, unfortunately, was away from home for a
couple of days, attending a " paychiatric " congrees in
Amaterdam. The two women therefore had, for the mo-
ment, no male help to appeal ta On Edwatd, the quiet
student, engrossed in his theories, depended, not at
critical stages only, the whole daily life of the discon-
nected family. He was the ring, seemingly unmoved in
itself, through which all the fluttering strings were drawn.
Even Eliza said, far more frequently than she imagined,
that she really must ask this or that of the "Jonker,"
which title of his unmarried youth she still unreasonably
bestowed on Dr. Lisse. Kot that his universal responsi-
bility called for extravagant pity. He had always enjoyed,
more than the average of hia scientific colleaguea would
have done, the cares and pleaaurea of gardening, building,
even farming — in one word, the sort of work that is in-
separable from the management of an estate. And he
knew every stick and atone of hia beloved Bardwyk. But
the bearing of everybody eWs burdens may become too
much at moments for a too gentle-hearted man.

Hia ideal had long been — we all have onr tastes — to
see the old home filled with gentle " crazies." " JSj son,
if I ever have one, can turn them out again," he said,
laughing. Laura buried her face on his shoulder. " Ton
will have one," she whispered. He drew her head up to
hie and looked into her eyes.

But Laura's thoughts, for the moment, when left alone
with her sister-in-law, were not of prospective offspring
but of a suddenly very actual parent. Her grief, her

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

nerrooB diBcomfiture, seemed to sweep her to the ground.
" Mj mother I " she leiterated. " Thomasine, my
mother 1 my mother I " In the tone lay bU the diaappoint-
ment, the diailluBion, the new pain. What could others
assert, or auegestt The hard fact was there, to be faced.
The shattered image lay prone. "Ah I how are we to
distinguish," exclaimed Laura, " between good spirits and
evil? " Bhe turned a pair of haggard eyes to her sister.

Then only Thomasine allowed heiself, hesitatingly, to
" preach." " By prayer," she said.

The next morning Thomasine departed for Leyden.
The baroness was engrossed with Kenneth, more amiably
enduring and melancholy than ever, but revolving a great
scheme for teaching James to ride. James, unaware of
that scheme as yet, very angry still with I^ura, had
turned mote and more to the kindly old professor, who
knew man; of the flowers which Laura hod to look out.
Thomasine, then, went oft for the day to Leyden. Noth-
ing could be done, in any case, about the money, until
Edward returned that night.

It was to the address of " our bankers " that Thomasine
betook herself. Here, at last, afiorded by some sort of
" chance " — but Thomasine would never have admitted
that — was a faint clew, a possible starting point, the name
of a "go-between," who had been mixed up in the now
defunct " business " of Mr. Abrahams. Feeble as the
indication seemed, she clutched at it. Up till now she
had nowhere seen an opening; inquiry or advertisement
would have courted discovery at once.

The office of " our bankers " was an unexpectedly im-
posing one, in a main thoroughfare. Thomasine had con-
stantly passed it without noticing the house or the name.
Banks were not much in her way; nor business generally.
Of course, she could see one of the gentlemen. "Mrs.
Grayel" An English name — there are many, especially
Scotch, in Holland. She was seized with a sudden alarm,
370

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBB

that tbe man of busineea migbt knov her. But no ; that
was hardly likely; eba had never heard of bim. There
were numberlese banks in tbe tovn; tbey are the only
trade that eeems unchecked by competition.

Tbe head of tbe firm — ^for he it was — looked up as she
entered, ^o, ebe bad never eeen bim before, and it waa
evident that be did not recognize ber. He was still quite
a young man, almost bald, with a little fair mustache
and a winning manner. A good thing in bis profession,
that last. " In what can we be of service to you, madam) "
he said suavely, leaning beck in bis desk cbair. And
there Tbomasine'a difficulty began. Kot that she had
not concocted ber little plan, through her long night of
watching and hope. But tbe plan wasn't a good one; it
couldn't be. And tbe best little plans often crmnble in
the naked light of a " What do you want ) "

" I understand," said Tbomasine, " that you were con-
cerned in the business of the late Mr. Arthur Abrahams,
of this town." That sentence came, as it stands, out of
the plan.

"Your information is hardly correct," sweetly replied
the bald young man; and tbere the plan faded out of
sight.

Tbomasine looked so sad, so utterly disconcerted, and
innocent and charming, that the bald young man took
pity on her, a thing he by no means felt inclined to do.
"We have transacted business with and for Mr. Abra-
hams," he said.

"Then you could know about his business — you could
give information about it,"

" That, madam, we could certainly not,"

"Legitimate information, I mean, of course," said
Tbomasine precisely. A bit of tbe plan again picked
up here.

"For that," said the young man adroitly, "I should
refer you to his confidential clerk."
371

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THE HEALEBS

Thomaaine's heart leaped, as a ekiff in sight of the
haven. "He had a confidential clerk f"

The banker smiled at her outcry, "We often have,"
he said. He rang, and spoke briskly throngh a apeaking-
tube ; the address was brought.

" It is an odd part of the town," said the bald young
man.

" I shall find it," answered Thomasine, rising. " Might
I ask, had this Mr. Abrahams a large business! "

"Very large."

" As — as large as this? "

"Larger. But different, in many ways." The bald
young man smiled again, aa he showed her to the door.

A queer part of the town it was indeed. Down a long
and narrow, dead-asleep canal, with grass among the cob-
blestones and tal] gables nodding forward to catch a
glimpse of themselves in the stagnant, weed-grown water;
a handcart came rattling along with a whistling boy; it
made the silence all the more apparent, as its clatter
died away round a comer, to the busy streets, A woman
in a linen jacket stood looking over a half-door; another,
in a cap, scrubbing down by the dirty water, called up
to her " Missions I " whereby she signified " district visit-
ing," in direct reference to Thomasine.

The latter held on her way and turned into a little
slop — it was no better — an alley with a post in the middle
of its entrance, a passage so narrow you could easily
touch the houses on both sides as you passed along.
Here, close to the canal end, hung a slanting glass door,
at the top of three much-worn stone steps, with an in-
habited cellar underneath them, and on the jamb of the
door was a large 7, her number. Number 7 Paradise
Walk. The inhabited cellar, which sold " Fire and Wa-
ter " — i. e., not strong drinks, but boiling water and firing
— turned out to look at her. She opened the slanting
door, and a little bell made a great deal of noise; for the
872

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEAS '

little bell protected Tenable property — nuTKanne, mold;
cheeseB, and preserred Italian eggs. A fat, slovenly
woman came out at once to look after them.

" Oh, no customer 1 " said the fat woman's dirty face.
Her thick lips said, "And what may you be pleased to
want?"

"Mr, Lucas Peper," answered Tbomasine.

" Right up at the top, as high as you can go, and mind
the hole in the middle."

Thomasine undertook the ascent up a mucb-vom per-
pendicular ladder with a rope at the side. She was not
much perplexed, for she had found time, amid her studies
with Edward and her copyings of " Balaam," for plenty
of Sunday-school work. The woman looked after her
with a sullen grin; for the lodger expressly forbade all
Tisitors, and, moreover, had never had any. His land-
lady was paying him out because he did not buy of her
wares.

Tbomasine knocked at the only door on the top land-
ing — four stories high, four feet square; you came up as
through a trap. She received no answer, but a frightened
squeak showed the room had some one in it, so she boldly
walked in.

The low, cTBzy garret — not a line of it straight —
seemed more like a damaged box than an apartment. A
bare wooden floor and small window, gray paper ceiling
and walls. A deal table and a chair, a box bed and a hair
trunk, and, prominent, the sole object to attract notice,
an iron safe. It was not la:^, yet how had they ever
got it up there) And how long would the rotting tim-
bers bear the strain )

No, not the only object. On the naked table, in the
utter bareness of the room, a big book, closed — a Bible.
The sight of it was to Thomasine as the light in the
home window to one who deems himself many miles away.

By the table, on the solitaiy chair, a white-haired old
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man was sitting, liatless, Mb handa in his lap. Afi the
door creaked open, he looked up, and hie ezpiession
changed at onoe from apathy to the acutest alarm. " Get
awarl" he cried. "Who are you! Monejrl I never
give."

" I have not come for money," replied Thomesine.

" Beligion t I don't vant yonr religion. I've enough
of m; own. How did fou come opt Where's the land-
lady!"

" She sent me np," explained Thomasine innocently.

"She mnat have been drunk again. Ool Go I"

"I believe yon can be of service to me without any
inconvenience to yourself," hazarded Thomasine, with a
beating heart She stood by the door. So, she wasn't
going.

" I never was of service to anyone," aoid the old man.

"Then, wouldn't you b^in nowt It will cost you
nothing."

He eyed her, and slowly got off his only chair. " Sit
down," he said, and, indeed, she had need to. The old
man stood by the safe.

" Yon helped Mr. Abrahams in all his business t " began
Thomasine nervously.

" I was his cleric," cried the old man quickly. " His
clerk. His cle^"

" But you knew about his business."

"I knew. Oh, I couldn't help that I It's dead and
done for." His lean fingers unconsciously clutched a cor-
ner of the safe. " Nobody talis of it now."

"You won't mind my talking of it for a moment,"
persisted Thomasine, very white.

" What's done can't be undone. It's all dead and buried
and gone."

"I am Baron Lisse's daughter," said Thomasine aim-
ply. " Too remranber the name — Lisee ) "

" Yes," BSid the old man ; " I remember the name."
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"My father, or rather his brotliei. Colonel Liese, had
many tranBaotiona with your late master."

" That's the word," interrupted the old man. " Vy
maaterl You've used the right word. He wasn't m;
employer. He was my master. / couldn't help what he
did. It wasn't my work,"

"I repeat, I am not come to ask you for mon^, Mr.
Peper — only for information. We think that in all those
transactions we may possibly have wronged iix, Abra-
hams. He is dead, and the thought troubles us."

" What 1 " asked the old man. " Bay that again."

" We think we may quite possibly hare wronged him.
He implied as much. The thought troubles us."

"Hehl"

Thomasine started back before his shrillness. He had
flung himself forward, his old eyes ablaze.

" Tou think you might have Wronged Arthnr Abra-
hams I The thought troubles you I" He come and sat
down on the hair trunk. " Tell me. Tell me eveiything,"
be said.

She complied, or, rather, she told him the little ahe
knew, with awkward phraHeH that his keenly wrinkled
brows seemed easily to unravel. As she spoke Thomasine
grained courage. "These eighty thousand florins," she
said, "which my husband forced him — ^yes, forced him,
wfe admit, by absolute brute force — to refund, it appears
that he had already paid them. He said so, in the last
words he wrote to my husband, before he — died. If this
be true — and what man lies in the hour of death t — ^we
have robbed Mm, and by our robbery mined him, &nd
driven him to suicide. The thouf^t will not let my hus-
band rest. It has almost deprived him of his reason.
We want to get at the whole truth. We must get at it.
It is that I am here for. If we have taken this money
from the dead man — alolen it, and killed him — it must
be refunded somehow. Had he a wife! Children t Ai«
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these starring for wont of what we took I Xo one knows
of this thing but m; husband and myself, and one
relatiTe who only guesses the lesser part. My husband
has — has been out of hie mind; only quite recently he
has been able to tell me. Do you wonder that he — he
mutl know." She paused a moment, and, choking down
her tears, " We cannot bring the dead man to life," she
said, "but perhaps we can right, as far as we are able,
the wrong that we have done,"

For a moment the old man aat motionless. Then
he said : " God has sent you here. He is mercifuL
He is far more merciful to me than anything I had ever
hoped."

" Let me know the worst," said Thomasine. " We will
refund what we can. But — it is the thought that hia
death lies at our door I "

"I will tell you about myself,'' was the old man'a
answer. " For more than twen^-£Te years I was Arthur
Abrahams' slave. Call me, if you like, his cashier. That
was my title. AH his business passed through my hands.
There was much of it, but we had few clerics, for it was
all done by go-betweens, middlemen. He seldom kept a
client in his own hands, unless he got such a — such a
good one as Colonel Lisse. ' It would be a pity,' I re-
member hie saying to me, ' not to — use Colonel Lisse
direct.' " The old man drew a long breath. " And even
with our big clients, whom we kept, he always pushed
me forward. ' Be careful,' he'd say to them, ' with my
cashier. His name's Peper, and peppery he is — all pep-
per. The lees you say to him the better. I've known
him put on an extra per cent with a man that had called
him Mr. Mustard, and I couldn't make him take it oS 1 '
That's the sort of thing he'd say about me, the liar, and
the wretches'd be so afraid of me they wouldn't dare
to plead."

"But why — i" asked Thomasine, and stopped.
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" Wh; did I Temain vith him t Of ccniise ha had me
well in his power. He'd lent me mone; I could never
repa? faim. In a little business of m; own, and so he sold
me up and made me his cashier. I had a wife and child
— they're dead; he hadn't. Make yourself easy on that
score. He was a much younger man than L He used
me and wore me out" — ^hia eyea flashed; "bnt Vve sur-
vived him 1 "

"You know, then, ahout thia mttney," pleaded Thorn-
iisin«.

" I was coming to that. He had paid the moiu^ — ^troe
enough. But never mind; let me tell you how he repaid
it." He turned to gaze at her. " I wander," he aaid
thoughtfully, " how I can make a lady like you under-
stand."

" I will try," said Thomasine.

" You said, ' Does a man tell lies in the face of death t '
Perhaps not, and yet many a murderer has said at the
gallows' foot, 'I am innocent.' But my master did not
distinguish, as you do, between truth and untruth. And
the untruth he died with was a truth of its kind."

" You must be more explicit," said Thomasine.

The old man leaned over the table. "He paid," ha
said, "across the counter, as It were, but not in notes,
which the colonel would doubtless have lemembered. ITot
in notes — ah, no— far from it I He paid in shares, at fu]l
nominal value, at par. If you understand, shares that
were not quoted on change, shares in a company that, at
the tim^ true, existed — I suppose that saved what he
would call his conscience. Yes, the company existed at
the time — seet"

" But the shares were worthless! "

" He would say not. It is difficult to prov% you see^

when there is no quotation and the company's prospects

are all in the future. And the colonel put the shares

away in his strong box, which was in our keeping, and

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probabl; iorgot all about them or mixed them up with
other shares."

"But the shares must have been found, then, in the
box I" peisieted Thomasine.

" Aha, you are not such a simpleton as most of 'em 1 "
Old Feper's manner bad gradually changed to Tiracious
interest. The slnmbering business memories awoke in
him against bis wilL His dead chiefs definition of hia
character cannot have been quite witliout foundation.
" No; they probably had been exchanged again for others.
These values were constantly coming and going. Th«r
were mixed up with large loans on security — for purposes
of speoulative purchase, you see. Ah, the villain I I
remember perfectly his figuring out the eighty thousand
odd. The shares he paid with came to a trifle more in
his estimate, an even sum, you see; and tlie colonel paid
him the difference in silver coin of the realm." The old
cashier sat meditatively gazing at the safe. " It's ell in
the books," he said. " I wrote it in with the rest, all neat
and fair to look at, but it wouldn't have borne investiga-
tion by a business man. Old Abrahams himself was chief
director of that rotten company. It was dangerously like
criminal fraud, that time, and he knew it. If he hadn't
known that, he'd never have given in to your husband.
Dear, dear, like criminal fraud, and to think of all the
kinds of fraud that are not criminal I" He nodded
toward the safe. "Shall we look it ontt" he sud, "or
shall we let it rest!"

"As you wish — ^wisb," said Thomasine.

" No, no — better let it rest."

" Some day, perhaps, you will ahow it to my husband t "

"No, no; better let it rest And yet— I don't know;
I could make it very plain to him. We must see. Do
you know what is in that safe? Books. Books. All
the books of all the five-and-twenty years. The neigh-
bors think it's gold. I bought the safe at the sale, and
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from the official receiver, when all waa over, I bulged the
books. I had a little monejr. Do you know h9w! I had
saved up all thoae years to free myself from him, me and
my wife and child. Then they died. And when he shot
himself, my bond wasn't found. He must have destroyed
it. rd paid bim many times over in extortionate inter-
est. So you see I had my bit of money, and d'ye know
what I do with it? Can you keep a dead eeorett **

" I think I can."

" Don't say you think."

"I can."

" Thaf s better. I should like to tell you. I have
never told a souL But your face looks good. Listen. Z
give it away."

Thomasine's eyes traveled round the beggarly room.

" Yes, that's just it," Bsid the observant Feper. " Whra
Abrahams did for himself, I saw it all, as I never bad
before, and it sickened me. I saw what I was coming
to, through aiding and abetting. And now I do all I
can, you see, sending it oway in secret without any-
body's ever knowing where it comes from, I send it
right and left, to all kinds of institntionB, in small sums
of one pound. It's little enough, Ood knows. But it's
all I've got; He knows that, too. And" — unconsciously
his hand settled down upon the tattered Bible — " my left
hand doesn't know what my right hand does, yon aeet"

"Never doubt the gift will bring its blessing," said
Thomasine.

"Bleesingf Ah, sufficient, child, if it lightens the
curse a bit I I'm an old nun to turn religious, but I'm
doing my beet. Paper turning into salt — ehl Tea,
tha^s what I say to myself, sitting up here and send-
ing oft my one-pound notes. Peper turning into salt —
hat See?"

Thomasine glanced a little anxiously at the door. She
rose.

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"Do you know why I choee this room!" pursued the
old man. " No, ;ou don't. You'd never ^ess. I want
to tell you. I never told a soul anything all those
months. Fll never tell again. Listen. I was always
a moderate man. Lord knows, but the things I like best
In the eating way are the things that woman sells down
below."

I " So you have them handy," said the bewildered Thom-
asine.

I " Handy 1" He jumped up and eame after her. "I
never touch them. I pass by them, daily, and I eat my
dry bread. Tha^U be accounted to me, ^f That'll be
Bocoonted)"

Thomasine hesitated from anxiety to apeak aright.

" Oh, I know it's faith, and not works I " he cried — he
seemed to have a wonderful aptitude for reading her
thoughts — "but there's treasure to be laid up in heaven
all the sam^ and I'm an old man: I haven't much time
left. Lord, to think of all the treasure he laid up on
earth, and no treasure left in the end I Fresh cheese,
eht Kewlaid eggs, eh I Grass butter, eh)" — with each
ciy he came a step nearer — "that'll be accounted to
me-seet"

"I cannot understand why Mi. Abrahams revenged
himself bo cruelly upon my husband," said Thomasine,
pausing on the threshold.

"Your husband was the first man that ever did him
—fleet"

" But his aSaira must have been in a bad way already ) "

" That was hia own doing, through his wild specula-
tions, not another man's."

"But — ^but"— it was Thomasine's last doubt; she had
stayed to give it utterance — "even if my husband was
right in getting the money back, he kept him by force
from going to his appointment, and that ruined him."

" So he told himself; so he tried to make himself be-

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Here. So he probably believed, for to doubt it was to
doubt his own foresight. And the more he believed it,
the more he hated your husband. But eveii cooiplete
auccesB in Paris could not have righted his last big specu-
lation. I con prove it " — he nodded backward to the safe
— "from the hooks."

" I thank you for all you have done for us. I thank
you from the bottom of my heart," said Tbomaaine, with
extended hand. "You must let me come and see you
again; you must let me bring my husband."

He took the hand, and grasped it so energetically that
ahe winced. " It is / must thank you," he said. " TA.w'll
be accounted. Aa for coming again, if the hindlady's
drunk, as she probably will be, she^ let you up, as she
did to-day."

Drunk or not, the landlady waa at the bottom of the
set of ladders, inquisitive and vociferative. " Did he give
you anything} 2^o, he never gives nothing to nobody.
Did you see hia iron chest full of gold. He'll be mur-
dered some day."

Thomasine picked her grateful way to the station.
Her heart was singing with happinras. She yearned to
be back at Bardwyk with her glad tidings. In the High
Street, to her vexation, she ran up against her sister
Jane.

" Halloo I Now, thaf 8 lucky," cried Jane. " I ran over
to consult my three dearest friends, but I'd just as lief
ask your advice. Oh, you can take a later train to Bard-
wyk I Billy Oalonne has asked me to be his wifa He
asked me last night at the Qerman Legation hall. Of
course I shall accept him. Now, what is your advice?"

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OHAFTEB XXXVI

While Thomaaine was thus advising for her hnaband
and other relatives at Lejden, the household of Bardwyk
had gone altc^ether wrong. Laura, dietraoted vith the
long prospective wait till nightfall for her husband, had
shut herself up, disconsolate, in her own little room.
Ruin stared them in the face. It would be impossible to
find the money without selling Bardwyk. Even then,
what is the value of an estate suddenly thrown upon the
market like thatf

She took up the little pUnchette and deliberatel;
snapped it in two. The thought was in her mind, cor-
ruptio optimi peasima, though she could not have eZ'
pressed it. And she prayed in a wild sort of way, as the
slow hours lengthened, to be " delivered " from the sec-
ond sight. The time came and passed when it was her
daily custom to " magnetize " Jamee Graye, but she did
not unlock her door. Of the beneficent effect of this
animal magnetism on the lad's simple personality there
could be no doubt. But during the last days the result
had not been so satisfactoiy; it seemed as if his nature
resisted, instead of accepting, the proffered invigorating
calm. Of a truth, his great reliance on his benefactress
was shaken; he could not explain his doubt to himself.
He was trying to do it to the professor. " Uammie
Laura not good," was what be said, but the baby words
conveyed a great deal. The herbarium — his collection of
dried flowers — had been the pride, almost the object, of
his life. It was the one big thing be bad done, bad been

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contmuously oconpied in doing, during all these montks;
he had seen it grow, hla creation, had clung to it and
kept it by him, hugging it to his bieaet, ahomng it to
whoever came near him, turning over its pages, in his
long lonelinesses, bj the hour. And now Mammie Laura
— ^his helpmat« in making it — had ruined it ; for hastening
in her agitation to wipe up the first splotch of gum when
she dropped it, she had upset the whole bottle, and the
sticky liquid had oosed at once through all the openings
of the thin tissue paper, and in trying to remove the
stains and to loosen the sheets she had worn holes through
some and torn others, and the whole thing was a wreck.
Such a misfortune had never befallen him before ; he was
unable, or partly unwilling, to comprehend the accident.
He believed she was angry with him for having picked,
in the hothouses, rare flowers she had desired him to
leave untouched. He had foigotten, and gathered them
for his collection. " I shall take away the herbarium if
you do it again," she had said. And now she had kept
her word.

So the lad was sorrowful, and yet more sore. Many
things had happened of late to disturb him. Barton, by
sheer patience and cunning, in the form of long-drawn
lollipops, had elicited from coachman's Tommy the con-
fession of James's innocence in the affair of the pond.
"And I never thought for a moment that Sir James
could have done such a thing," remarked Barton; "all
the same, it's as well to have it proved. And as for the
nasty young varmint, I promised him to make his father
promise he wouldn't lick him, and I hopes the father,
being a Dutchman, won't keep his word." Barton, with
fine insular self-consciousness, disapproved of eveiything
and everybody about him, excepting Kenneth, whom be
pitied, James, whom he loved, and himself, whom he
loved, pitied, and admired. In his devotion to his young
master he had even gone to the extent, incredible as it

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seemed to himself, of learning a few Dutch words, with
the sole object of getting at coachman's Tommy; this
had taken some laborious weeks, while Barton, struggling
with the uncouth sounds, would go and stand gloomily
watching his unconscious victim at pla;. The more
easily procured lollipope preceded the carefully prepared
conversation by many days ; quite unexpectedly the ques-
tion was sprung at last on the sucking infant : " Sir
James not putted Tommie in pond — noi" Vehement
up-and-down noddings of the head and silence. " Father
not whippie Tommie ; I — I " — finger on breast — " I prom-
ise," et cetera. At last it was noddings, few and grave,
to and fro.

Of course Edward was glad, oh, of course; all must
rejoice to see Sir James's sweet character righted. Still,
there were all the articles in the MeditinUehe Jahrbiicher,
and there was the controversy with Bottenkofer, and,
dear me 1 what uphill work is all medical study I and what
downhill tumbles, too I

But James, when Barton brought him the agreeable
news which had cost the faithful servant so much effort,
James was utterly brokrai-hearted. " I knew you couldn't
have done such a thing. Sir James, but the little Dutch
varmint — " James, with a wild look of confusion in his
eyes, broke into a storm of outcries and tears. It was
an attack, to the servant's horror, such as the boy had
had once or twice before, in hia former condition, when
he could not express his feelings by any other means.
"Sir James t Sir James, dear, what is it! For God's
sake! I thought you would be ao pleased — " The mask
had fallen off Barton's face; he was all love and anxiety.
But James, even when he quieted down, refused to utter
his thoughts, in spil« of much argument on Barton's
side, for Barton, as hks been stated before, was a garru-
lous domestic. His eloquence, to the last, far exceeded
his charge's meager vocabulary.
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The truth waa that James Graye, now seventeen, for
the first time learned man's cruelty, his evil injury of
Ms own kind, his deceit. He had realised long ago that
your fellow-creatures could be unkind to you, could do
things to you, at least, that you did not like, that felt
unpleasant; they could say that things were "good" for
you which weren't, because they hurt you; even Kenneth
and Barton had done that, and he could never forget it.
But such little confusions were veiy different from the
diabolical wickedness of Tommie's accusation. Hen, of
course, hurt animals constantly — ^witness the gardener
with his worm and his fish; he had never seen — how
should he? — one man strike another, or a child. Like
many wiser haters of slaughter, he contentedly ate his
salmon or his beefsteak. But here was deliberate barm
done without any reason, by a fellow-creature he had
never injured, to his innocent self. Suddenly the dreamy
"deevil" became a living actuality, a human being, un-
distinguishable from the friends around him; any one of
th<»e friends at any moment might be stabbing him,
without his knowing it, to the heart. The whole woiid —
his small world — became a wilderness of devils. The sun
went out, leaving the horizon lurid. All faces grinned
at him. Had Tommie not always smilingly touched
his cap?

Other experiences followed. That last time, when he
ran away, angry, into the woods — a thing they had often
told him not to do — ^he had met a beggar, who, tenta-
tively, asked him the time. Uncle Kenneth had given,
him a watch, a delightful ticking plaything, though he
could not read its mystery. When the beggar pointed to
the bright gold chain James underetood, and laid the
watch in the other's hand so that in the gathering dusk
he might find out the hour for himself. The beggar im-
mediately bolted, and as James ran after him, shouting,
he must have known, running the faster, that it was not
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James's intention to give away the vatch. Therefore
men took things from you — stole. And a big lout in the
village had, without liiyme or Teason, thrown a stone
after him, as he was driving on some charitable errand
with Laura, that had hit him on his poor weak head.
Oh, horrible — the world was horrible 1 Thomasine, whom
he perhaps most admired as the most "angel" of his
circle of acquaintance, was naturally much occupied with
her husband. And now Mammie Laura had wickedly
destroyed the herbarium because he had picked her flow-
ers, not remembering. His only experience of absolute,
undiluted goodness — not that he thus reasoned out the
friends all aroimd him— was the tramp who had bestowed
on him the beautiful golden roses, to whom he had given
his perishing flowerB and his clothes. The old hat and
the colored bite of paper were' his relics, as precious as
anything the baroness could revere in a Leyden chapeL
These symbols he had placed on the top of his chest of
drawers, where they lay in state. The bottle-nosed old
peddler remained the supreme manifestation. In James's
life, of the divine.

" My dear boy," said the professor, " there is no ques-
tion more insolvable than the question. What is lifel
And yet we shall find out what life is before we find out
what we live it for. Illogical," said the professor, look-
ing at James, " but you won't mind that."

James liked to sit and hear the prof raeor orate to him,
in slow and correct, if un-Engliah, English. He under-
stood hardly a word, but when all the world is dark
around you it is not unpleasant to hear fine things said
to you which you do not understand. The fair sounds
bring with them a suggestion of possible light that you
do not see.

"The one is biology and the other ia theology, you
see," continued the professor, "I have a sort of sneak-
ing temptation of the devil in me that theology doesn't

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THE HEALERS

fit into science, at least not into inductive, bacteriological
science. Bnt then look at that great chemiet, Pasteur.
As good a Catholic as my wife. Of course it^a a tempta-
tion of the deviL X>o you ever meet vitb the deril,
James t"

" Don't," said the boy, catching at the word.

His shrinking was so manifest that the professor
paused. "What do yon know of the devil, boyi"

" Devils. Devils everywhere," exclaimed James.

" So my wife says. Bnt when I come to look for them,
scientifically, I find only microbes. Shall we find, as
knowledge progresses, that the spiritual powers of evil
are all microbes, or shall we find that the microbes are
all spiritual powers of evil! That is the supreme ques-
tion, James." The professor slapped his knee. " The
whole future of the race lies there."

The boy, intent on his own dark thoughts, sat gazing,
witli troubled eyes, into space.

" The only thing we can be absolutely sure of, James,
speaking apirituftlly, is that aelf-sacrifice is the greatest
thing on earth. It is absolutely illogical, opposed to the
whole principle of nature, which is self-assertion; it is
unprovable, unreasonable, absurd. It is definitely out-
side all science and opposed to all ratiocination. Philos-
ophy rejects it. The people who think, advise you to
develop yourself; but the people who feel, know it is the
one tiling that makes man more than man. I tell you,
James, it is the one spiritual axiom, the single thing that
seems to me to lie outside the microbic development of
the world. When all's said and done, the soul of man ia
a development of life like any other. It has only one
quality which isn't — as distinguished from self-destruc-
tion, which is — self-sacrifice. How much of this do you
understand ? "

" No," said James.

" A tninimum, indeed. But periiape yon put into prac-

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THE HEALERS

tice as much of it as I do. Still, I should gladly have
tried that experiment of mine on myaelf, had Edward
not rendered it forever impoaaible. Poor, foolish, loving
lad I Bnt in that, I dare say, there was aa much vanity
as devotion."

"Huh?" said James.

"Now, you, though you don't understand, you would
like, wouldn't you, to do something that would moke
everybody else happier than they were) "

James kicked a pebble at his feet. " I wish I was like
that," he said.

"What, as hard as that? Not caring about anybody!
You can't mean it."

"I wish I didn't feel, didn't see, didn't hear. Noth-
ing," said James.

"What makes you so unhappy? Shall I go and get
you some of Mammie Laura's chocolates?"

The boy turned such a look on his companion that the
good old professor felt something shrivel in his breast.
" Good gracious ! " he thought, " they can have no idea
of this." Then he said, ignorant of all the little village
bounties : " What you want is to do more good to others ;
then you will see how good they are to you."

Wh^i he had spoken thie twice over, marking the mean-
ing clearly, James said : " So. Like a shot bird."

" My poor, poor boy ! " said the professor. " Do you
always feel like this?"

"Always," said James, to whom all present emotion
seemed permanent.

" I wish I could do something for you."

" Make me " — again James kicked the pebble — ** so."

The professor felt the little (fringe case in his top
waistcoat pocket; he felt the little bottle of Semicolon
serum. He reflected regretfully that here was an oppor-
tunity such as would never occur again. This useleea
life — not even happy — why cumbered it the ground ? Its

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEES

simplified conditions made it all the more legible for an
experiment. And vhat an experiment! Not the usual
medical inTeBtigation— Will this or that remed; aucceed!
No, it won't — which annually costs the lives, amid un-
speakabld tortures, in the laboratories of some thousandB
of animals, in the hospitals of some dozens of human
beings. The professor knew for certain (hat his Semi-
colon serum was the life eaergs that combats deca;.
Bince Pasteur's recent discoveries, immediately after the
attempt in which he had risked his own life, the pro-
fessor was absolutely confident that the semm could be
successfully applied. Therefore the questioa which the
experiment must settle was not, Shall it be injected t
but. In what solution) The answer would be decisive;
that answer would almost certainly be a death.

What life in all the world could be better sacrificed
than this life? The professor, who had broached his
secret, with infinite precautions, to his most intimate
friend, among all his colleagues, Mestitchensky, had re-
ceived an offer of a healthy Russian criminal, but he had
not been able to make up his mind to accept it. Now
here was a soul ready for removal, incapable of life and
clamorous for oblivion.

" Like that," said James, pointing to his pebble. " Like
that."

The professor positively trembled. He looked furtively
left and right, in the solitude and the silence. Over on
the other side of the lawn, toward the water, stood a
gray stone statue of Uinerva, which he himself had
placed there many years ago — ^Uinerva, the goddess of
science and medicine, witii her seipent and her owl.
Calm, impassive, with her great stone eyes, she seemed
to bid him do his duty, telling him that life is fleeting,
and the world eternal; that lives are nothing, end the
race is aU.

Slowly the professor drew his little leather case from

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEBS

hia pocket, veiy alowly he opraed it, and moat slowly
extracted the sjn-itige. Very carefully he inspected the
slender sOver needle. The boy watched him semi-
inqnieitive.

Suddenly the professor threw the syringe from him,
vehemently; it dashed to pieces on the grarel, twenty
feet away. The boy gazed after it, little interested, not
understanding.

" Smash I " said the boy. " Yes, like that. If you
smashed me, professor, would anybody be sorry — eh 9 "

There was a great hunger in his question, but the pro-
fessor was too excited to observe it. "Don't talk like
that," said the professor curtly. "It's silly. Fm not
going to smash you."

" But would anybody be unhappy if you did ? "

"Not if you are troublraome and put tiresome ques-
tions," said the professor, who was overwrought.

"I don't want to be troublesome," answered James.
But to himself he added: "They wouldn't be unhappy.
Nobody would."

Presently, in fheir painful silence, he fished up from
ancient depths of saniconscioueness the inquiry he had
been slowly feeling for:

"Would Uncle Kenny be)"

"Would Uncle Kenny be what?"

" Unhappy."

" Of oourse he would. I thought you were not going
to be tiresome."

" But once, while she was here, I heard Mias Maria say
to Barton — that." It was perhaps the longest speech
James Qraye had ever made in his life. It was a very
important one.

" Of course she did."

The boy vigorously shook bis head.

" A blessing for Uncle Kenny if I was dead."

"You heard her say that!" cried the professor. And

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

at his tone, at his face, James suddenly gave a quick leer
of intelligence, such as comes to minds of his class. He
nodded repeatedly. " Good God ! " cried the professor.
Then he recovered himself. " Oh, nonsense," he said,
"nonsense, nonsense 1" But James only responded, as a
statKneot, not as an exclamation, " Good God." That
-was a fact he could cling to. Though he but diml;
knew what it signified, it was .comforting. " And I want
to be dead," he murmured under his breath, for he was
afraid the professor would catch him up again and call
him tiresome. He was utterly weary of a world of
wickedness, where everybody, for all you knew, lied
and stole. And it would be a blessing — he had heard
aright; the professor had understood it, and knew
why, though he wouldn't tell — it would be a blessing
for Uncle Kenny, at any rate, if he, James Graye, were
no more.

The professor arose. He felt worn out; and also, or
perhaps therefore, in need of his dinner. Why were they
dining so late that night f It was already near dark.
Oh, of course; they were waiting for Edward, and also
for Thomasine, who had telegraphed that she was delayed
at Leyden. But Edward had come back; the professor
had seen him drive up. The old man cared little for
creature comforts, but he cherished his little punctuali-
ties. The post had come in also ; he had noticed that.
He must go and see whether there were any letters.
" Come, James t " he called. " Come along in ! "

" Yes," said James. He got up and walked slowly
across the grass, away from the canal. Once among the
trees he started running. He ran faster and faster in
the dusk, through the glowering beechwoods. He heard
a bird call, and he noted that it was a blackbird. " How
late in the year," he thought. It would be a blessing to
Uncle Eenny — that, at least, seemed certain. He could
be "good" — ^that is, "kind" — to Uncle Eenny, just as

Diailizc^bvCoOgl^

THE HEALERS

God was "good" to him. And his last remembrances
vere all of the tramp.

For B moment he stood motionless by the lonely pond
near the orchard, Tommie'a pond. The gray sky aank
lower. Then he let himself slowly glide, a heavy weight,
1 the Btill, dull, gleaming water.

:!,a,l,{c.bvG00gIe

CHAPTER XXXVn

While the professor was holding f ortli on the beauties
of self -sacrifice, Edward waa striving to gather from his
wife's broken sentences some accurate impression of the
calamity that had befallen her, and therefore him, during
his brief absence.

"You and me and the babe unborn," sobbed Laura,
** we are turned out of house and home."

"We must find another — house," said Edward. In a
second he added, " And where joa are it will be a
home."

She put her arm round his neck, and then suddenly she
quieted down; for this creature of many emotions could
pass swiftly from the pain of a thing to its pleasure, from
its pleasure to its pain. " You are too good to me," she
said, " far better than I deserve — " and she even laughed
brightly. It was evident that she could not feel attached
to Bardwyk as he was. Of poverty, of the value or loss of
money, she had little conception; her anxiety through all
that long day bad been for his suffering, not her own, in
the future. Her sorrow had come when the unexpected
visitor said, " I am your mother."

" She ia going to marry this man," she murmured.
" O dearest " — and she turned red and pale f^aiu — " to
marry himt"

What do we say when we wish to proffer comfort and
know that we cannot ! We say, " Possibly it may not be
as bad as you think."

"Oh, yes, yes! She does not even care for him, Ed-

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALERS

mrd. H« has promised to make her tremendoiul; rich,
and so she msrriea him."

"He will succeed," said Edward.

* How do you know, dear ? "

" He is the man of the infant feeder — the patent cocoa-
nut business. I remember mj father telling me some-
thing aboat it. It is utter rubbish, of course, folly and
quackery. But in medicine, or rather in hygiene, that
sort of thing always succeeds. He told you he has got a
big man to call it after; and your mother supplies sev-
eral hundred thousand francs for the first advertisements.
They are bound to succeed. In a year or two she will
be too rich for Holland I "

" Such a horrible way t " said Laura.

He smiled. "It is quite a usual way. Any health
craze will succeed if you spend twenty thousand pounds
on adTortisementa. And know how to advertiae," he
added. "Mr. Bitterbol evidently does."

"O Edward, couldn't you make some money—a lot
of mon^ — as much as you want — as we want, dear I"

He laughed loudly. " How like a woman's leasoning I
* It's very disgusting. Won't you do it, my dear} ' How,
how do you think could I do it) "

" Of course, I mean not in a disgusting way. By Jen-
kins's pills; they must be all right?"

" I suspect they are bread pills. My father is far too
wise to have them analyzed. But I haven't got the
twenty thousand pounds."

She sighed, and rumpled his hair — a thing she liked
doing because he kept it, and his whole exterior, so super-
latively groomed. "Kot a bit like a future professor,"
she said. " See me ; I look untidy beside you," and she
Sung her laces about her, and pushed up the great
black coils on her head and looked round for the tiger
cloak.

" I don't care for myself," she said, " and, poor or not,
394

:!,a,l,zc.bvG0OgIe

THE BEALEK8

youni always be a famous genius, but it's vei7 hard to
keep baby out of Bardwyk."

" Don't," he aaid, and after he had said that only, she
could but hold him tighter and preas him closer and kiss
h 'Tn once — not more than once — again.

Tet when TJncle Francis entered he disturbed them.
They felt he could just as well hare come much later, or
not at all.

" I b^ your pardon, Edward," said TJncle Francis, " but
my time is so veiy limited. The matter is of exceeding
importance. Can I speak to you for a few moments
alone i"

" Oh, indeed 1 " pouted Laura.

" My dear Laura, they are two ' B'b ' that don't go to-
gether. Beauty, you know, and Busineas. I wish I could
think of a third B." He held the door open for her with
a low bow : " Shall we say. Beauty and BuaiQesa Bad, ehl
Or" — she swept past him — ^"Beauty and Business" — he
curved round behind her back — " Bah ! " He closed the
door.

" Edward," he said, coming back to the table, " time
presses. In a few days I shall again undertake my voy-
age. This time, I trust, the goremment will let me get
to Batavia, or recall me on this side Fort Said."

" I should think bo I " cried Edward.

"You can oerer be sure what a goremment will do.
When you are my age you will know that. Whatever
abilities a man may have had by nature, aa soon as he
becomes government they go. Look at Gambetta I "

" Yes," said Edward,

" Look at — But I won't mention names nearer home.
It's the same with Parliament. In every country where
there's a Parliament, the grown men behave more child-
ishly, more sillily, than a couple of hundred children
playing at Parliament ever would. I've watched our own
men making laws. Do you mean to say that a hundred

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

THE HEALEES

lunatica from your say lum of Wita'-End, if you got them
together, could make euch lawei"

" I don't think they could," said Edward.

" Do you use the word in my eensef "

" I am not a poUtidan," replied Edward.

"Nor a patriot?"

" Yes, by Jove 1 "

"Then you can answer my cjaestion. Nerer mind.
Bat if a unthinkable that the greatest fools should reach
all the highest places, and therefore, when a clever man
reaches a high place, the place must turn him into a fool.
Pre had enough, thanks, of seeing the country dragged
down to the dogs. You won't be troubled again by me
and my theories, Edward."

"No, no; we have always — appreciated them, uncle."

"You're a good fellow, Edward. Politician — eh! —
Patriot-^pooji 1 But what I mean to say is, I shall stay
out there. If I fall — for mj country — you remember, by
the bye, what you are to put on my gravestone in that
case!"

" I— I am not sure. Have you left no written instruc-
tions!"

Uncle Francis heaved a deep sigh. " Fie, fie, fie ! " he
said sadly. " F. F. F, Francis Fighting Fell."

" I will put it down at once," said Edward, pulling
out a pocketbook, but Uncle Francis seemed to find this
move lacking in courtesy.

" And if I do not fall," he remarked irritably, " I shall
marry out there and settle down. I shall marry some
rich Indian widow, for I am not impervious to the advan-
tagei of wealth. You can smoke such good cigars. But
I shall do more than that : I shall turn into an equatorial
Baboo— no, I mean a nabob — a satrap. I ahall live in
splendid gardens, and very probably start a harem. I
shall become a Uohammedan then, of course. I hope you
have a sn&iently high opinion of my religions and moral

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

standatd, Edward" — be turned on his nephew with a
certain air of irritation — " to understand that I should
never start a har^n mtlesa I had become a Mohammedan
first?"

"I have," said Edward.

" I am glad to hear it," replied hie uncle, only half-mol-
lified. "I should not write these things home; women
don't comprehend them; and, besides, your mother has
turned into a bigot. But I tell them to you, as a sensible
man and the future head of the family. That, however,
is not really what I had come to speak of. Tkat could
wait till to-morrow. This won't. In one thing, Edward,
I cannot contradict your mother-in-law. As I was say-
ing, great wealth is a not undesirable thing."

" My mother-in-law I " exclaimed Edward. " Do you
know anything of that miserable affair!"

" I should hardly have alluded to her in those terms,"
replied the colonel. " Yet they strike me as rather apt.
She is a poor, miserable creature, Edward. Know about
her! I! Wliy, didn't I come over with her on the
boat!"

" I hadn't realized that," said Edward.

" And I gave her your address. I wrote to your father
•bout it, but she b^ged me not to spoil her little sur-
prise. Surprise, indeed — ^the wretch 1 I feel, Edward,
that I am somehow reeponsible.''

" By no means. Tou are in no way responsiWe."

Uncle Francis shook his head. " That* s when we most
feel we are," he said. " When we are, we seldom feel it.
'Tis the fate of a gentleman. But, if I'm to be respon-
sible, Edward, I can bear more responsibilities than one."

"How so!" said Edward.

" I can help you," replied the colonel. He drew a letter
out of his pocket. " You must get lid of this woman, of
course."

"I wish I knew how."

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00<iIC

THE HEALERS

"Bemore her — at once."

"I am not an Eastern satrap, uncle. I haven't got a
bag and a Bosporus."

"Pardon me, you have. Decent ones. Civilized ones.
Righteous ones. That is what I have come to talk about."
He had unfolded the letter — a long one, an epistle — and
now spread it out on the table. "You must stop this
marriage," he said, ** immediatel;. The woman isn't fit
to marry. She mayn't."

" She is of age " said Edward bitterly.

" But not ' compos mtntu,' " cried the coloneL " There,
now, Tve said it. Here's a letter from her to me, begging
me to interfere with you and her dear, sweet child about
the money. Bitterbol is so violent, talks of nothing but
lawyers and law courts I Ten pages of rigniBTole. ]l£Bgic
rings, magnetism, Mafaatmos — ^what are Mahatmas? —
enough to prove her crazy in the eyes of any mad do<!tor
in Christendom."

Edward took the letter and read it thrangh very care-
fully, while the colonel stamped and pished about the
room.

" Oet her locked up within a week," cried the colonel.
"Xearest rdatione. Daughter acts. Son-in-law first au-
thority in the country. Put her away at Wita'-End. Give
her a nice room."

Edward laid down the letter without speaking. The
colonel stood still, opposite him.

"You don't mean to say that you foresee difficulties)
Why, you know perfectly well that, with the existing
laws, any of us can get any of our relations locked up, if
we care to. Pve heard you say so a dozen times ; in fact
it was that made me think of it. You've only got to go
to a doctor and describe your relations from your point
of view, and the doctor says they're abnormal at once.
Everybody's abnormal nowadays, and certainly every-
body's relations, as described by each other, are. And

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALEBS

then, that woman 1 Host of ub don't care to do it, on
account of the expense I "

Edward thoughtfully flattened the letter out, " I can't
do it," he said.

Unole Franoia's eyes grew ae big as saucers. " You
can't do itl" he cried. "Why, who could do it more
easily than yon I"

" Ou that Tsiy account I can't do it — ^because I'm that
sort of doctor."

" Of course you can't sign the certificate yoiiTself ; but
you've only to speak the word and any of your coU
leagues will."

" True. And that'e why I can't epeak the word."

The colonel grew crimson about the face and twirled
his smart mustaches. "I'm not advising any villainy,"
he said in staccato tones. " The letter is a lunatic's let-
ter, and the woman's talk to me, on the steamer, was a
lunatic's talk. Tou seem hardly to be aware what is at
stake. This house t " The colonel raiaed his voice and
struck his knuckles on the table. " Our home, sir. Bard*
wyk. We are the Liasee of Bardwyk, Edward. This, our
bouse, is at stake."

Edward lifted his eyes to his uncle's face. " I know,"
he said. " Tou needn't dwell on that, unde."

" Very well. Yon prove that the woman is not in her
right mind. The money remains invested as it was, and
you are appointed trustee."

Edward took a few hasty strides up the room; then
he turned.

" Oh, don't tempt me I " he burst out. " It's simple
enough, as you say. Easy enough, too, in sooth. It can
be done to-morrow. If she were poor and we bad to
support her, perhaps she would ask us to do it. But I
can't do it — I can't — to enrich myself. Oh, I admit all
you say about half the people in the asylums not being
more ' abnormal ' than the people who make our laws I I

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEKS

admit that two-thirds of the patients in the sanatorift
would be all the better for it if their relations stopped
paying so much a day for them and turned them oat
into the fields to work. I admit it nil. But you most,
we must, distinsnish sharply between the mad and the
eccentric. The mad we must put into ' establishments '
of some kind; the eccentric we only may."

" Well, you may," said TJncIe Francis suddenly.

" Only if they wish it, or if they can't support them-

Uncle Francis snatched at the sheets on the table.

" You won't do it t " he cried. " Youll let this wonum
marry her Sitterbol ) "

" I can't stop her."

"Can't! Can't 1" shouted the colonel "Can't, I tell
you I But if you haven't the spirit to save the old place,
I have. Ill take this letter to — to your rivaL You're
bound to have a professional rival in this country. You
doctors all have."

"Don't, imcle," exclaimed Edward in great distress.
" It would be perfectly hopeless. We should oppose it.
Tou would only make a scandal. Pray, pray, don't do
that I"

" We shall see I " cried Imphi-Boshek, stormins out in
a great rage.

Edward remained thoughtful. Yet what was the use
of thinking! His thoughts could only mean sorrow, if
not regret.

"If you please, Jonker," said Eliza in the doorway —
and her voice had in it the usual protest against all
things that happened in this family — " the carriage that
brought the Freule Thomasine from the station " (Eliza
habitually refused to give her young lady the foreign
name, occasionally adding, with marked spite : Oh, I for-
got, Mrs. Cry!) "has also brought an outlandish person.
This is his card."

400

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEE8

Edward, at sight of the name on tlie card, checked a
little cry of astoniBhment. "Show him in at once," he
said. The name was that of one of the American dde-
gates at the Fj^H^atric Conference. At the doting
meeting, only three or fonr hours ago, the? bad said
good-by.

"And ia dinner," aaked Eliza, "to be kept waiting in-
discriminately!"

" I fear so."

"Well, it's spoiled anyhow," aaid Eliza, taking herself
oflf.

The American was a qnick, brisk man, with a pleassnt
air of doing things because he liked them. "Ton will
be sniprieed at my following yon in this manner," he
said, "but just after you had left Amsterdam I got a
very important cabl^ram which concerns you. And as
I cross to Harwich by this night's boat I thought I
could not do better than hurry after you."

"A cablegram which concerns me," rq^teated Edward
in surprise.

" Yes; let me find it for you."

As he searched in his pooketbook, Edward remarked:
" I am awfully sorry you have had all this trouble for
me. Tou will hardly be able to cateh your boat."

" They told me I could just do it. I have brought on
my luggage. Here is the message. You will see it is
worth while." He unfolded the telf^aph slip and
read:

"Offer Dr. Liese perform his operation on my son.
Twenty Hionsand dollars. Three more probably if soe-
cessful; similar terms. Bittwell."

" Bittwell I " exclaimed Edward. " The Railway
Kingl"
" Suet-Eing," corrected the American. " But it's of no

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

►

THE HEALEBS

coneeqnence. I couldn't tneiely tend this on to yon, yon
ape; I thought jou'd like to talk it over."

"I am truly grateful to 70U," answered Edward.

" Ob, I shall get m; modest fee I " said the brisk Ameri-
can. " And Bittwell would expect me to see ;ou about it.
But you, my dear sir, I congratulate you. Come over to
ue for three or four months and make a big fortune."
He looked round the room. "PeAaps," he added, "you
will say that is hardly necessaiy. Still, it is always pleaa-
ant to gain a lot of money by sheer merit."

"Have all your millionaires idiot sonsf" questioned
Edward, half-smiling.

The half-smile was returned. " Kot all. But a larger
proportion, naturally, than any other class of the popula*

"Well, I must think of it, and talk it over with my
wife. Can you manage to stay to dinner t In theory, I
accept. But I distrost myself "

" You needn't do that. To tell you the truth, I came
over with instructions from Charles G. Bittwell to look
into this new departure of yours. Why, your speech waa
the event of our meeting I Barely you must have noticed
the effect it had. Tou are too modest, sir. It was
magnificent I I cabled to Bittwell immediately after it,
but I said, seeing who you are " — another glance round
the stately old room — " ' big offer advisable.' So, having
no answer, I thought he'd given up the idea, and of
course I didn't speak of it to you."

"It takes away my breath," said Edward. He felt on
the point of telling this stranger that the old house was
going to remain the property of the Lisses — the property
of Edward Lisse — after alL Why, it was going to be-
come his property; he would buy it from his wife.

" I feel confident the operation will be Buccessful," said
Edward, thinking aloud. " Yes, I feel that I may assert
that, though I don't like asserting. You may tell Mr.

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

Bittwell that. It is mucli leaa riaky than the first one I
performed. The death of the patient is qow hardly s
thing to be feared,"

For the first time the American looked a little put out.
" I hope yoQ do not imagine that we are so ignorant in
the States," he said, " as to think there is any connection
between the death of the patient and the success of the
operation I"

Before Edward conld answer, Thomasine stood in the
room. "O Edward," she said, "I beg your pardon for
interrupting, but mother and Kenneth aren't in yet, and
they've been out a long time. And Barton can't find
James anywhere."

Edward turned to the American with a bright laugh.
" Tou see what a good doctor I am ! " he said. " Both my
charges out of sight, and I here discnsung a future
cram-full of fame and money!"

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf J

CHAPTER XXXVm

The baroness was contented with her da;. Delivered
from the assidnitiee of Laura and the anxieties of Thom-
asine, she had spent a quiet morning, and a more emo-
tional bat by no means unpleasing afternoon. As the
shadows lenftheoed the emotional interest increased.

She had enjojred, among other intellectual titillations,
a fierce theological battle with Eliza. These contests,
during her stay at Bardwyk, came up suddenly, in the
smooth atmoq>here, like squalls. Undeniably the ambient
air was charged with them. A suggestion would drop,
an allusion, and all at once the antagonists were at each
other with loud clamor, hammer and tongs. This time
the affray had come on with delightful unforeseenneas; it
had developed as unexpectedly in a perfect zigiag of
metaphyaics; subjects had been vehemently taken up,
muddled, and dropped again — such as the immacnhite
conception, the transformation of the elements — almost
too sacred to be mentioned here. At one moment Elisa,
carried away by sectarian seal, had declared that " Kary
was jost a woman like herself." From such impious prof-
anation the baroness had fled in horror, but on the stairs
she had thought of a revenge. She hung over the bal-
usteis. "Elisa," she said, "the paragon" — she did not
call her new housekeeper the paragon, but the name l^is
got lost somehow — " possesses the most wonderful receipt
for making quince jelly. I must send your mistress
some." If there was anything Eliza disliked more than
the thought of the wonderful quince jelly, it was the
application of the words "yonr mistress" to Laura, the
404

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

Bumatran, the Witch. When ahe stopped ciTing in ber
own room and dabbed her eyee, which she did fiercely
with eau de Cologne that emarted, " If it waen't for the
dear boy, that I love like my own baby, I'd leave the
house to-night," she said. " But they hold me l^ the
dear boy, my poor Edward, and they know it. A nioe
life he has, between his mother and his wife I Bnt as
long as he's got a shirt to his back, / shall see that it's
aired. And," added Eliza magnanimously but umueee-
sarily, in a loud voice, to herself, " when he hasn't a shirt
left, owing to her" — not tiie baroness was meant heie! —
"spending every penny that th^ve got on her gilkB and
her laces, then his faithful Eliza will buy him one with
the little she's aaved in his good father's house I His poor,
weak, fooliah father I The poor, weak, silly menl "
Eliaa then applied to her chief source of exhilaration, S
calendar "For the Afflicted," with daily texts, selected
from the Psalms and the Lamentations, about your bones
being poured out with roaring, and youi^-one hardly
dares to mention it— cleaving to the ground. Occasion-
ally, when household trials were overwhdming, Eliea
could not resist tearing off to-day's text, somewhere dur-
ing the afternoon, and looking for to-morrow's. She did
BO now. Whenever it was done, her sense of order re-
proached her all through the reat of the day. Bhe sighed,
rose, and buued herself about Hr. Kenneth's essence of
beef.

For it was Edward's opinion that Kenneth needed
strengthening. "Hia appearance is delusive; the con-
stitution wants building up." There is no more facile
explanation of mental or moral trouble than that the
body has not sufficient strength to cast it off. The doc-
tors are rapidly teaching us that all wickedness or sor-
row is nervee. Bather difficult— only all they say is
credible — when a man has so fine a physique as Kenneth
Qraye.

405

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THE HEALERS

The baroness bad betaken herself to her son-in-law, still
flushed with the exertion of honorable war. " I do hate
and detest fighting," said the baroness, sinking down in
an annchair. " Anything for a qniet life." She had
brought part of the mannscript of "Balaam" with her;
she spread it out on her lap.

Kenneth looked tip from a letter he waa reading.
"Very different from my good correspondent here," he
said. "Miss MacCIachlin flies off anywhere in search of
a good flght."

"Your Scotch friend t Where is she nowt"

"At her own place, for a change. She has flung her-
self, heart and soul, into this great scheme for decayed
gentlewomen and mill hands."

"Are tbey to live together!" inquired the baroness,
turning over the pages of "Balaam."

"Oh, no; in fact, there's to be a hill and a curve of
the bay between them. The ladies will live at Bowan-
gowau — ^Uaria's house; new homes are to be built for
the sick mill hands. ' Onr object,' she writes — he referred
to the letter — ' is to make the poor things better and
good. That is to be onr motto, engraved on ererything;
"Better and Good" — on the house fronts and on the
note paper. It will be seen — a constant, great moral and
sanitary lesson — on their bed linen, on their mugs, and
on their plates.' " Kenneth looked up pensively. " It is
to be hoped," he said, "that it will be seen upon their
mugs in the end."

"What do you meant" asked the baronees.

" Kothing," be replied, hastily returning to bis read-
ing. "'The decayed ladiee are to have it, too.' Bravo I
That's like Uaria. It may stop their decaying. ' But
oh, the trouble there is about the building I Every-
body is BO dishonest. No, I shouldn't say that, but
th^ certainly all seem to be. How I wish you
were heiel Couldn't you come?'" He laid the letter

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

down, and hia eyee looked wistfully away toward the
horizon.

" Which way is Scotland ! " asked the quickly Byn^a-
thetic baroness.

"Yonder," he said.

" I suppose you will be going back soon."

"Ab soon as James is well enough, if hs ever is well
raiough to do without Edward's care — and Laura's.
Laura has a most marrelous influence over James. We
cannot deny that it is her magnetism — call it what you
like — that has developed the soul in him."

" I do not deny it," replied the baroness shortly.

"It is that which has kept me," continued Kenneth,
talkii^ for the moment, as he so frequently did, as if he
were a normally happy, healthy man. "I fed that hia
mother, could she see us, would shed happy tears in
heaven. Can she see us 1 Doea she know that her long
prayers are answered, her faith is rewarded } Her child
may not have much of an intellect — she would not have
cared for that — but he has a human souL"

"Heaven often employs strange means," replied the
baroness. " Eor myself, I cannot approve of these ' mag-
netic ' influences."

He stared at her in astonishment. " Why ) " he said.
" The history of your church is full of them I " Then
he halted, feeling that they did not comprehend each
other.

" Shall I read you," asked the baroness suddenly, " a
bit of ' Balaam ' I "

Now that was an embarrassing proposition, for, of
course, he would not be able to follow a single line, but
it was also a comparatively attractive one, for he would
not longer be required to talk.

" The French reporters," remarked the baroness apolo-
getically, " to whom I read some of this in Paris, said
they thought it had a most majestic falL I have always
407

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

thought that was a particularly appreciative thing to say
about an epic poem — 'a most majeetic falL'"

"It VBS, indeed," acquiesced Kenneth, folding up his
own correspondenoe and putting it, vith an unheard sigh,
aw^.

" I cannot do better," continued the baroness, " than
read jon the pasaage in which SalaanL exorcises and ren-
ders powerless the magical incantations of the wizards.
'He sprinkles holy water over them "

"Holy water?" cried Kenneth.

" Yes. Holy water was in constant use among the
Oonaanites. Father Wins tells me that has been in-
dubitably ascertained b7 a learned professor of Lourain.
The Proteetants, who pervert everything, say he has
proved its pagan origin, but V9, of oonrae, see it was
prophetic."

Kenneth went and picked up one of his papers that
had fluttered to the ground. "I understand," he said.

"Yon see, we in our church exorcise evil spirits; we
don't employ them)" After which retrospective thrust
the haronees hastily plunged into her reading. She
pushed her cap awry — bat that it had been before. Her
fussy hair stood out. The usual blots were on her brown
silk dress ; the usual enthusiasms were in her geetures and
her voice.

Kenneth sat and listened vaguely to what seemed a
cataract of gutturals, the steady descent of a moraine.
His eyes were on Haria's postmark — Drumtychlochlar.
For some reason oi other the letter had been posted at his
own post town. Well, there was nothii^ in that to move
him; he received constant letters from his agent and
othen which bore that mark. Only yesterday the min-
ister's wife had written about a sale of work. " I wish
you were here to help us," she had said. But to-day the
sight of the stamp disturbed him. We cannot reason
about these things. He wondered if that good creature
108

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THE HEALERS

Uaria had driven over, in hie absence, to the InTergrftye
manse and had posted her letter at the little town as she
passed throi^h; and the thought conjured up before his
eyes the long, winding, pretty hill road from Rowan-
gowan to Invergraye, with the hamlets dotted here and
there along it, and, near his end, the gray mass of the
old town. He wondered what they had decided about the
aale, and who would open it. Like every reasonable man
not a curate, he bated baiaars and charity entertainments
of every kind, yet this very sale was giving him a taste
of homesickness. He had spent a third of hia life away
from the place, in this dreary guest after health with his
nephew; of late he had felt moi« and more that he
wanted to be there, doing some of the lots of work him-
self. It was good of the minister's wife to express, like
Maria, a desire to have him. If she wanted him for the
money — well, people must want you for something, and
she knew be would send the money, anyhow. James's
money. James — he smiled at the thought — ought to open
a sale of work at Invergn^e.

The baroness did not read weU. Hers was a drone
with much manual action — one of the most trying forms
of elocution; but it doesn't matter much when your
solitary auditor cannot even catch a proper name. Be-
sides, Balaam, in Dutch, is spoken and written quite dif-
ferently. It rhymes to William.

The baroness, it must be admitted, had oocasionally
perpetrated English veises as well as French ones, but
she felt dreadfully shy about showing the English to her
son-in-law. She was always putting off the evil moment.
They suffered under her erroneous impressions, built up
on examples rashly gathered from the greatest poets,
that all the words in the English language rhymed more
or less with each other, however they were pronounced.
The evidence was materially affected by her having got
wrong the fourteen pronunciations of "ongb," and the
409

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THE HEALEBS

six — or how many are there! — of "on," One stanza,
much appreciated in the family, ran:

Each mortal has his own brief tail (ate tale) ;
Wo bloom but for a little while {tic wail).
Then hurry to our comtnoo gaol. —

tic "goal" intended, under the impression that the two
words were spelled and pronounced alike.

Undoubtedly Kenneth would have thought as kindly
about these vetses ae he thought and epoke of all things
that came within hia ken. But he was not yet destined
to know them. He sat thinking. And " Billiam " flowed
past him like the turn of a water mill.

He sat thinking, hie thoughts growing ever sadder. It
had been Thomasine's care, these last weeks, by constant,
gentle vigilance to keep him as far as possible from these
solitaiy broodings. The whole horror of his situation
once more deepened upon him. Who was he, to wish for
home surroundings! — ^to wish for work! He wasn't even
Lord of Invei^aye. By no means. He was simply Sir
James Graye's guardian, custodian, and lifelong care-
taker; and a good thing, too; for James Oraye, if a
simpleton, was at least an innocent and pure-hearted
creature, doing good all round him, with clean hands,
every day of his life. While he

He had robbed, not for his own sake, yet robbed, with
violence, another man, and by doing so had driven his
wretched victim to commit suicide. That was a plain
fact, which no reasonable thinker could deny. Nobody
knew of it but himself and Thomasine, and on the two
several occasions, since his wife's return, when he had
quietly and earnestly asked her whether he had not done
this, she had not found courage openly to gainsay him.
It was not done on purpose, she had falt«i«d, not with
desire to kill. What a futile " recommendation to
410

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

merer," from which his own conecience turned in con-
tempt I How many deeds of violence are done " with in-
tention to kill " 1 With or without intention, the man
was dead; the weight of his dead soul lay on Kenneth's
heart.

And the intention had been there, at all costs, to get
the money. Why could be not believe the man, rogue as
he seemed! Why, in hia Christian cocksureness, assume
that the Jew must be a swindler; in hia insular su-
periority feel confident of the right to bully a foreigner?
He had threatened to beat out the other's brains; he
would have done it ! An easy excuse, in the fury of your
ungovernable passion, to say that you think you are
mad. You are entitled, hereditarily, to think yourself
mad.

He had reasoned it out a hundred times, never speak-
ing of the thing to a stranger, only twice to hia own
wife. What was the use of speech or of thought f He
had done it. You can get away from speech, not from
thought. You cannot even any longer, with the agree-
able excuse of the first weeks, say that you are insane.
Ton are quite sane, as sane as any of the others, with this
bloodguiltinese on your soul. A good thing he was not
a spiritist, like Laura, or he might try calling up spirits
of 'the dead I That way, indeed, would real madness lie I
At this stage he lai^hed.

The baroness stopped her reading — Imphi-Boshek had
just been wounded — in amaze. She stared at Kenneth;
her expression changed. He was not weeping — ^men of
northern breeding can seldom weep; he was simply star-
ing, with those great, dark eyes of his, Italian eyes, into
the stagnant misery beyond.

" Will you not tell me," she said very softly, " of your
trouble! "

He shook his head. " It is nothing," ' he answered.
"Nothing real"

S7 411

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALERS

"Tor such unreal boitowb — Borrows that we cannot
■peak — my church has remediea, and my church alone,"

Again he shook his head. " Confession would do me
no good," he said.

"I was not referring to confession," she answered.
"For confession we must put our burdens into words. I
was thinking of the weight we bear — a nameless weight
we could not eren analyse — that drowns os dowiT, that
drags ua down into a black and bottomless pit." The
last words she apoke almost in a whisper. Her Toice was
BO gentle, her manner so sad, he could not put her away
from him. It seemed as if with every word she drew
closer, " Uy desr son," she murmured, " let us seek it
together — the relief that comes to those who ask it. I
could tell you of myself. I have long wanted to speak to
yoo — ever since we came — but I dared not. And I knew
not what Thomasine would think ; and yet — and yet — oh,
wliat does that matter, when there is a soul to be
saved from depths of wretchedness! We are far too
afraid of each other, we poor humans I Oh, let me help
youl "

He laid his hand on the portfolio in front of him. He
looked at her with tender surprise. " I don't quite under-
stand," he said, hut he said it tentatively; hia eyes were
seeking the meaning of hers. " Do not want to under-
stand," she said. " Only believe. You must have faith
aa a Uttle grain of mustard seed, and the mountain that
is bearing you down will be flung away into the sea."
And, as he yet hesitated, trying to fathom her intention,
trying to grasp, in a great overflow of light, some faint
promise of this coming deliverance, she rose to her feet,
dropping the foi^otten, precious manuscript of her poem.
" Come," she said.

He rose also; half -blindly he followed her.

" Wait one moment," she said, almost in a commanding

voice. " Wait for me here." She went into the house and

41S

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEBS

immediately retvuned, holding something hidden in her
hand. " Come," die repeated. " Let us go."

They went along the load together, in the autumn
evening Bfaadows. On both eidee of them the stately
poplara rose motionlesB, like a cathedral iiave. Only from
the topmost smmnita a faintest rustle ran down the
ailent columns, as of distant Toicee in wordless song.
And ever, at the farther end of the long avenue, the
fading rays, in changeful light against the pale-blue
heaven, combined, as in a great east window, the glories
of a steadfast shining cross.

" You are not cold ! " she asked suddenly.

He started, ashamed that the question had not occurred
to him for this old woman, come out thus without hat
or cloak.

" Let U3 go back," he said. " Let me get you a shawL"

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Not for me. Let us
hasten on."

As she went, she took between her fingers the thing
she had brought out with her, a lump of wax, and began
fashioning it with trembling touch. And she began
telling him of herself in broken accents, quivering with
emotion, her breath caught in irrepressible sobs. "All
my life it has been with me," she said, "my burden,
greater than I could bear. When I read Strauss and
Renan, and studied what they call the higher criticism,
and Max Miiller and the rest, I always felt what they said
was true, only It mustn't be, it couldn't be; the world
would be too horrible if it were. And now, credo quia
abaurdum — oh, you can't think what a comfort that is,
what a rest ; only my husband doesn't understand it prop-
erly. Poor, poor, dear man ! You can't be a scientist
and a Protestant. You can't say: I want a reasonable
faith. Oh, credo quia absvrdtim I " She repeated the
words over and over again, and her mind gradually found
fresh rest in them; hei voice grew calqp.
41S

......Xooglf

THE HEALEBS

A child stopped them by the vayside, askiiig for aims.
He was a daric-brovu gn>sy child, with rings in hie ean,
half-naked, speaking broken French. "Yes,' yes, I will
give to thee I" exclaimed the baroness, fumbling eagerly
in her pockets. " Dear me, I hare left m; purse at
home, Kenneth 1 Wait one moioent. We will give to
thee, child." But Kenneth also had come out without
money. The child continued to beg, not believing.
"Tienil" said the baroness, and handed him her brooch.
" I had passed him my word," she added apoli^etically to
Kenneth as the frifi^tened child ran away into the
bushes. " Would you have him think ever after that the
lady he met bad liedt" A few minutes later, at the
crossroads, they came upon the gyp^ cart, a green thing,
with a horse and a swarthy man beside it, the sort of
wagon that travels round the fairs. The man, who was
mending a whip, looked up and nodded. "The Lord be
with you I " said the baroness solemnly, in French. " And
with thy spirit," came the quick reply. The baroness
passed on with Kenneth. The man called to a gypsy
woman, who came to the cart window. " Sold I " he cried
to her, in much stronger vernacular. "I thought my
church answer was worth a florin at least I "

" That is the beauty of my church," said the baroness
to her companion. " It is universal. Not like your little
sects. In the sands of the Sahara, among the icebergs
of SpitEbeigen, we meet and are one. Ave Maria! cries
the East. The West has but one response: Oratia
PUnal"

"True, baroness."

" I wish you would not call me baroness or madam.
Will you not call me mother, in the good old Dutch
way«"

"Yes, mother," he said.

The shadows grew longer. The far white cross, stand-
ing out more distinctly, seemed to beckon them to make

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

THE HEALEB8

haste. The baroness, still shaping with those ]
fingers, began again to speak.

" When I fiiBt took the great step I should have taken
long ago, a vondroua peace came over me, as of a little
boat buffeted by the sea, that suddenly curls, on the
same water, into port. But soon awakened the sorrow of
knowing m; nearest and dearest to be all outside. Ikfy
heart was weighed down within me. And the thought,
ever more oppressing, grew upon me that it was my
fault if all m; children were Protestants. Had I sought
the light sooner 1 Had I guided their infant steps
aright I" Even now she shuddered. "I took my poor
weak, weigbed-down heart to our lady of Eevelaer. I laid
it- down upon her altar steps. I said : ' Lady of Pity
and Healing, heal thou my wounded heart t ' " The tears
choked her utterance ; she stumbled, half -blinded. " And
all the sorrow went," she stammered, "all the burden.
And my heart is like a little child's."

They had turned off the highroad into the lane, near
the village. The little old Catholic church of Baidwyk
lay before them, in the evening silence. High above it,
from the placid heaven, shone a single star.

"We cannot go to Kevelaer," said the baroness.
"Would to God we could! — for tens of thousands have
been healed there in the same manner as I. Their tribute
hearts, diver and golden, fill chapel and shrine. Oh,
wonderful beyond words is the power of the Virgin of
Eevelaerl She is mightier, Kenneth, than any Virgin on
this side of the Alps. But here also, at Bardwyk, the
Virgin will receive us, if we come to. her. Come, my son.
Gomel " She caught hold of hie arm, drawing him on-
ward. In her other hand she held the work she had com-
pleted, a roughly molded waxen heart.

At the church door Father Winx met them. Before

the baroness's cry of elation Kenneth felt, as he had felt

all along, ^under her tenderness, that he could not turn

415

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIf

THE HEALERS

against her. And his heart vaa full also of love and
gentleneea, of tramolous eurrender and hope. Meekl; he
followed into the building. It was still ■ rei? humble,
old, tnmble-down building. The grand new choich was
not yet begun.

"Father," ezclaiioed the baronea, "my son-in-law is
as yet a Protestant, but that doesn't matter, does it t Our
Lady will also have pity on Froteetanta. He is very un-
happy, and he doesn't know why."

" Surely, surely," replied the father. " Our Lady had
mercy on you I "

"Oh, help ub!" she cried, extending her hand to the
priest. Together they Bank on the Bt«pe of the altar,
before the Virgin. The baroness, her eyee streaming,
held up the waxen heart. "Oh, pray for ue," she re-
peated to the father, " pray for ua 1 Have mercy on us.
Virgin Mother of Mercy. See this hearty that we bring
to thee, bruised and broken ! We don't know why it feels
BO unhappy. Do thou take its unhappiness away I"

" Do thou," echoed the good father, " take its unhappi-
ness awayl "

" We offer thee a golden heart," cried the baroness, her
voice hoarse with weeping. "We will hang it up heie,
a heart of gold!"

"If the gentleman is as wealthy as report affirms,"
whispered the father in the baronees'B ear, "perhaps he
might offer a new church."

" Kenneth," said a veiy low voice, in the Himniwa dose
beside them. "Kenneth." He turned where he knelt,
gazing up at the figure that was bending over him.
" Kenneth, dearest, will you listen for a moment to me) "

" Thomaeinel " cried Kenneth aloud, and sprang to his
feet.

"Dearest, I want to speak with you. I have many
things to say."

The baronesa had also risen. " Could you not have

^lailizccbvGoOglf

THE HEALERS

waited a few minutes t " ahe asked angrilj. " Is what
you have to say bo important as all that I "

"It can wait, if Kenneth wishes, mother," replied
Thomaaine. "But — but — " and as Eenneth hesitated,
seeking a aolution : " Mother, would you and this gentle-
man leave me alone with my hneband for a very few
moments, please t"

" Oh, certainly, Thomasine, if you wish it — in this
idolatrous temple, pray I "

"In this church," said Thomasine. She remained
standing by Kenneth's side, in silence, till the footsteps
had died away. Then she said simply:

"Kenneth, God has helped me to find proof that you
accuse yourself wrongfully. I have been this day with
the man who knew all the secrets of him you thought
you injured so terribly. It is not true. He injured you.
In his books, when his confidential clerk shows them to
you, you will find evidence that he had not paid the real
value of the money — only worthless paper, and that,
moreover, you are in no way responsible for hie death.
Ton understand what I am saying, dearest, and you be-
lieve it)"

"Say it again," he murmured, and she obeyed.

"You believe itf

The answer was ready in his heart For a moment his
lips refused to utter it ; then he said simply : " I believe
it — because you say it — without proof."

"Dearest, you shall have proof."

"I believe it. O Thomasine, hov were you enabled
to do this)"

She drew him toward her. "I want to tell you," she
whispered. She laid her head upon his shoulder. " Come
closer," she murmured; "oh, come closer, my hushaud,"
and then, in the solemn shadowed silence of the listening
sanctuary :

"I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me" she
41T

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIfi

THE HEALERS

breathed. " Day br day, ni^t by niglit, I cried, and He
beard."

He beld his ann aroimd her; he kieaed her, tinable to
speak.

" For He hears," she cootinoed. " Oh, He hearB. Our
lives go all wrong for a time, and even our conscience^
seem mistaken, and we don't know what to do or where
to turn; we don't know whether we are guilty or not
guilty. We see the dreadful results ot our actions, aa we
think; result or not, the terrible thing baa happened. We
don't know what to do next, or what to say. One thing
only we know — always; ve can cling to that forever:
if we cry to Him, He listens; if we call to Him, He
hears 1 "

Btill Kenneth held his arm tightened around her; he
laid his cheek against hers. " Life," he said, " is all too
difficult. I wonder would He hear me!"

She drew him away from the side chapel, where she
bad found him, away to the high altar, above which
gleamed, in the dark, a mighty cross, like a triune flame.

" Pray to — God," said Kenneth, sinking down with his
face in his hands, " that He may listen. We try to do
right, and wrong comes of it. Pray to Him, that I may
learn to ciy to Him, and He may hear I"

As he released his hold of her, Thomasine, clinging yet
closer, sank beside him. And she lifted her white face to
the dim radiance of the cross. A memory came upon
her of her childhood days, a half-foigotten English

" To Thee, Father, mindful of Thy love! " ,

She said the words over again softly in the darkness
of the altar st^ps. High overhead, through the lofty
chancel windows, fdl the pale light of the dying day.

" And having with us Him who pleads above^
We here present our willing sacrifioel "

b, Google

THE HEALERS

" We would do right," murmured Eemieth, " for othen,
snd nroug comes of it I Wh^ierer ve are suieet, see,
we most surely go astraj. We know nothing except that
we are going astray. O lore, dear love, these fleeting
lives of ours! Who will help us in the future? What
shall our hands find to do in it! O Ood, that hast
saved me from bloodguiltiness, I would see clear. I
would do right I "

" Host patient Savior, Who canst love us stilir'

said the sweet, sweet voice of Tbomaeine.

Th^ knelt together, side by side, then, in silence. A
bar of light from the chancel windows deepened across the
altar, in the gathering gloom.

A man was rapping at the church door, which Father
. Winz had closed in leaving. At first they did not bear.
It was Barton, shaking with emotion, his mask all gone
to pieces, the tears pouring down his cheeks:

"O Mr. Qrayel" he cried. "O Sir Kenneth 1 O Sir
Kenneth I Mr. Grayel"

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIC

:!,a,l,zc.bvG00gIe

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My Poor Relations.

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK.

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WHERE LOVE CONQUERS.

The Reckoning.

By Robert W. Chambers.

The author's intention is to treat, in a series of four or five
romances, that part of the war for independence which particularly
affected the great landed families of^ northern New York, the
Johnsons, represented by Sir William, Sir John, Guy Tohnson, and
Colonel Claus; the notorious Butlers, father and son, the Schuylers,
Van Renssetaers, and others.

The firet romance of the series, Cardigan, was followed by the
second. The Miud-at-Arms. The third, in order, is not completed.
The fourth is the present volume.

As Cardi^u pretended to portray life on the baronial estate of
Sir William Johnson, the first uneasiness concerning the coming'
trouble, the first discordant note struck in the harmonious councils
of the Long House, so, in The Maid-at-Arms, which followed in
order, the author attempted to paint a patroon family disturtied by
the approaching rumble of battle. That romance dealt vrith the
first serious split in the Iroquois Confederacy ; it showed the Long
House shattered though not fallen ; the demoralization and frnsu
flight of the ereat landed families who remained loyal to the British
Crown; ana it struck the key-note to the future attitude of the
Iroquois toward the patriots of the frontier — revenge for their
losses at the battle of Oriskany — and ended with the march of the
militia and continental troops on Saratt^a.

The third romance, as yet incomnlet
the war-path and those who follov

/of Tryon County; and ends with the first solid blow de-
livered at the Long House, and the terrible punishment of the
Great Confederacy.

The present romance, the fourth in chronological order, picks
up the thread at that point.

The author is not conscious of having taken any liberties with
history in preparii^ a framework of facts for a nianue of romance.
Robert W. Chambers.
New Yoaz, May »6, 1904.

D. APPLETON AND COUPANV, NEW YORK.

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WORKS OF ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.

lOLE

Colored inlay on the cover, decorative borders, head-
pieces, thumb-nail sketches, and tail-pieces. Frontispiece
and three full-page illustrations. i2mo. Ornamental
Cloth, f 1.25.

e the Court Undertakei,

s the destruction of hii middie'^CBl

reiativts in order to iater them for the «ake of piactkx ?
If I recollect, hia diamal confession mas something like t

" II »u Id bliak NovEmber

death, the subject bdne " Whil Stailj I* Art ?»

" Th< iquHiV of 1 door,

n that those faieUr rcapectabk
— neln the!

, . ., _.,, .._ _.... n their poljga-

. Ji chastity (for erery suitor for favor la popularly expected lobe wedded to

hii particoUr art) — I repeat, it la my dieoiUul to lueeest that these impeccable
old ladies are in danger of being tallied to death.

But the talken are talking and Art Noaveau rocken are rocking, and the
trousers of the prophet are patched with stained glass, and it is a day of diidd-
neas and of thumbs.

Let ns find comfort in the andent pfxirerb : " Art talked to death shall rise
again." Let us also recollect that " Dinky 1b as dinky doei ; " that " All is
not Shaw that Bernards ; " that " Better Yeates than Clever ; " that wotds ara
■o inexpensive that theie [s bo motal crime in robbW Heniy to pay James.

Flrmljr believing all this, abjuring all atam-pii£ers, slab furniture, and
woodchuck liteiatuie — save only the immortal verse ;

The frequent acom tltopi."

Abjuring, OS I say, ilinkinesa In all its forms, we may stlU hope that thooa
cleanly and respectable spniteii, the Sister Arts, will continue thnnighout the
■ges, rocking and drinlung tea unterriEed by the xnillitHi-tongued clamor in
the back yard and below stairs, where thumb and forefinger continna the
question demanded by lnteUec>ual exhaustion ;

"L'arrl KeakeraayVur?"

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.

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